


From Yesterday

by Eboni_A



Series: The Black and Red Universe [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), X-Men Evolution, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Batfamily Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Child Abuse, Chronic Illness, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboni_A/pseuds/Eboni_A
Summary: Dick Grayson receives a blast from his past when an old childhood friend from his days of traveling in Europe with Haley's Circus shows up out of the blue.  Dick hasn't heard from or thought about Pietro Maximoff in years, and though he's psyched to see him again, he knows something's up. Pietro's running scared and Dick wants to help him, but how do you save your friend from his dad when his dad's Magneto?(Follow up story to "Black and Red", Young Justice/ X-Men Evolution crossover.)**Previously published on fanfiction.net under my other nom de plume: Eboni**





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any DC or Marvel characters, storylines, etc used in this story. Some characters were maimed in the creative process, but don't worry. Death in comic book land isn't always permanent. (Muhahaha!)

_From Yesterday, it's coming_

_From Yesterday, the fear_

_From Yesterday, it calls him_

"From Yesterday"—30 Seconds to Mars.

 

* * *

 

 

_Gotham Gazette, November 2, 2015 P.21_

_RICHARD GRAYSON, 15, leads Gotham Academy's male gymnastics team to victory by placing first in the all-around category at Saturday's district meet. Grayson, adopted son of multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne, is a former circus acrobat and no stranger to performing dangerous gymnastic feats in front of large audiences. Grayson will compete in the regional gymnastics competition being held at Gotham University this weekend, and is predicted to medal once again in all-around and individual medal events._

 

* * *

 

The boy stuffs the newspaper into his backpack.

The Greyhound station in the middle of nowhere North Carolina isn't busy at 4:13 in the morning. Hell, he's surprised it's open. The last time he was in the middle of nowhere, the bus dropped him off outside a station that had closed two hours before he got there.

He stares up at the board behind the ticket desk. There's a bus to Gotham City that will get him there in about seven hours. He thinks about how much money he has left and if he should waste it on bus fare.

It's not like he really needs to take the bus. He can get himself to Gotham City in no time on his own, but seven hours of sleep without having to stop moving sounds fantastic. He reaches into the pocket of his winter coat and pulls out his wallet. Running a thumb over his cash, he has second thoughts.

He hasn't seen Dick Grayson since they were both seven years old and climbing trees and jumping in lakes. A small smile touches his lips as he thinks about springs and summers in  _Velingrad_  and  _Karatepe_ picking blueberries and learning to fish and swim. Back when things were easy and nothing was expected of him. They'd had great fun, but it's a lifetime ago. Maybe Dick won't remember him. The thought hurts like needles being jammed into his sides.

_God, I just want to talk to someone who doesn't want to fuckin' kill me._

A door slams somewhere in the bus station and he jumps, head whipping around as his breathing speeds up and his heart races faster. His eyes scan the small room. There's an old woman in an oversized red parka, and a man with a German Sheppard on a leash. Nobody strange—but that doesn't mean anything. It never means anything. Not when strange can make herself look like anyone she wants. Not when strange can take control of people's minds and make them come after you.

It's happened too many times before.

He has to move again.

He approaches the desk and slaps 60 bucks on the counter. His hands shake and his voice quivers. "One ticket for the 6:00 AM bus to Gotham City. One-way."

The lady behind the counter has to be in her forties with tightly curled hair and suspicious eyes. She looks him up and down, and rasps, "Ain't it late for a kid to be out by himself?"

He shrugs.

The lady takes his money, counting it and punching keys on her computer. She spares him another glance while his ticket is printing. "Family in Gotham?"

He snatches the ticket from her hand. "Yeah. Keep the change."

It's only 15 cents, and Pietro Maximoff prefers not to carry metal.

 

* * *

 

Chapter 1

 

I brush my teeth to the sounds of my little brother freaking out behind me. I spit into the sink and look in the mirror to see Jason sitting on the side of the bathtub. He's so into his rant he's telling the story with his hands. I go for the Listerine; then check my China for stains. I grin at myself and give a wink.

Congratulations, Dickie-bird, you're a Crest Kid.

Let's see if I can go for cover model now. I squint at my wet hair and prod it with a finger. Blow-drying it turns it into a frizzy nightmare, but it's too cold out for me to even dream of getting past Alfie with damp hair. Towel... towel... my bathroom linen closet is next to the tub, meaning I must cross Jason's war path.

"You're not listening to me, Dick-head!"

Dick-head, oh that's original.

Jason tries to stand up, but I push him backward into the tub, cackling as he falls over flailing his arms and legs. That's whatcha get, asshat.

I get a towel and rub it over my head. I could be all girly and get one of those standing dryers you put your head in, but I'd never hear the end of that. Not to mention those things take too damn long. I've been timed, outside of a stakeout I can only sit still for 30 seconds. I'm not even still when I sleep. Ask Jason about the times we've had to share.

"Fuck!" Jason finally fights his way out of the tub, and he glares at me as I show him my pearly whites. Jason, Jason, Jason, when will you ever learn that I never listen to you before 7:00? I don't start big brother duty until I've had my happy-face pancakes.

"Jase, tell me all about what terrible thing Tim has done to you after I put some clothes on. What, you getting your jollies on watching me swivel around in this towel toga? Can't say I blame ya, but..." I duck the punch he throws at my head, laughing the whole time.

My little bro's face is hilarious! His cheeks are flaming red and his green eyes are furious. I can read his every move and I dodge his attacks for a minute, before getting him in a headlock. He grunts and struggles and I use the opportunity to give him a lil' hug.

"Aww... if all you wanted was a hug..."

I let him break my hold and catch me in the chest with a jab. I'm laughing too hard to care right now. I'll get him again later. I keep laughing as Jase gives me the finger and storms out of the bathroom muttering under his breath.

I don't think that last one is anatomically possible, Jay-bird.

I would tell him that, but I don't think he'd care. I go back to rubbing my head with a towel and leave the bathroom. The 50-inch flat screen over my dresser is on CNN. I always check to see if Young Justice makes the national news. My masked mug looks good on TV, if I don't say so myself.

Alfred has my school uniform laid out on my made bed and I grimace at it. School uniforms = blah. Khakis and blazers, and slacks and ties all do one thing: constrict movement. It is very hard to do standing back-tucks in starched pants. Though Alfie would say: Then perhaps you should not do standing back-tucks while in your dress clothes, Master Richard.

Whatever you say, Alfie. I get the uniform on, tie and all, and rip the towel off my head. I run a hand through my hair, still kinda damp but it'll air dry okay. Grabbing a comb off my desk I run it through my black tangles.

Hair gel.... Hair gel... it's on the dresser. I squeeze a quarter-sized amount of the green gook into my hand and tilt my head back to stare at the TV.

_Mutant Protest Shuts Down High School_.

It seems New York's infested with mutants. Let's see, there are mutants who can fly, run faster than speeding bullets, and leap buildings in single bounds. Why, they sound like meta-humans to me. But the meta-gene is a special gene that gives its owner power; the X-gene is a mutation and people who have that could have a power, could be physically deformed, or both. So, public opinion declares metas cool and mutants zits and the government's cooking up an acne cream.

I feel a creeping sensation in my arms and legs, and give a full body shudder to shake it off. Everything about the "mutant crisis" and how the government is "handling" it makes me sick, but at least I'm not alone in wanting to puke. Lots of meta-humans are in mutant rights groups. They have to be thinking that once the government "handles" the mutants, metas will be next on the agenda. I spread my gel-coated fingers and work them through my hair, ignoring the eruption of shouting from across the hall.

"I'm telling!" Tim shouts.

"Go ahead and tell, troll-face!" Jason shouts back.

Geez...it's only 6:46, guys.

I sigh and give my attention to the TV again to see an anorexic news anchor standing in front of a generic looking high school surrounded by picketers.  _Live from Bayville._  That's not near Smallville, is it? I snort and turn off the TV.

"Yaaaargh! Let go of my hair!"

"Not until you give it back!"

I give myself a once-over in the full-length mirror mounted on my door—Yeah, I'll pass today—and step out into the hallway. It's not seven and I haven't had pancakes, but someone's gotta stop the children from killing each other and that someone is always me.

Unless...

"What is the matter with you two?"

... they manage to get on Bruce's nerves.

"He started it!"

"I'm tired of this brat getting into my stuff, Bruce!"

"I was just..."

"Morning, Bruce! Morning Tim! See you downstairs, Jase!" I wave to my angry family as I bypass them to the stairs. I jog down the spiral steps, listening to Bruce do his Batman growl at my brothers. I almost feel sorry for them—"almost" being the operant term there.

Food here I come.

* * *

 

(~*~)

Halfway through my chocolate milk, Jason, Tim and Bruce enter the kitchen, Bruce in a three-piece business suit, Tim in a private school khaki and blazer set, and Jason in a public school wear-whatever-the-hell-I-want jeans and sweatshirt set. Boy, do they look grouchy. Not one of them smiles at me as they take their places. Alfred clears his throat and Jason takes his elbows off the table.

That Jay, such a Neanderthal. I kick him under the table and he sneers at me. Jase has been really moody lately, moodier than usual, and it has a lot to do with Tim joining the family six months ago. Okay, okay, so I  _was_  listening to his rant in the bathroom about Tim. Tim's been going through his things.

I'm always pissed when Jase "borrows" my stuff, so I know how he feels. I want to side with him and confront Tim about it, but... I also know  _why_  Tim is going through his things. I try to catch Jason's eyes; he scowls at me and stabs at his pancakes, mangling the banana and chocolate chip smiley face on the top pancake.

Mangling. I set my milk down, thinking about Rodney the Rocket's hand after Jason's batarang. I'd ripped a long strip off the screaming man's shirt and used it to wrap up his severed index and middle fingers. I put them on the man's chest after Jason and I tied him up, and I hope a doctor was able to do something with them. If Tim hadn't been with us, Bruce never would have found out about it. Jase said it was an accident; I... I want to believe him, which is more than I can say for Tim... and even Bruce.

"Dick, I need you tonight for patrol, so come straight home after school," Bruce says, reading the newspaper instead of eating, something that never fails to earn a "tut" from Alfred.

He needs  _me_? "It's Jason's night to go out," I say. I look down at my half-eaten pancakes, and they smile up at me. I like leaving the part of the pancake with the smile on it behind. Someone should smile for Alfie after I go to school.

I feel Jason's eyes burning into me, and I won't look at him. I know what he wants. Bruce has been reducing his Falcon hours, and if I don't forfeit some of my Robin hours, he doesn't go out much.

"I need you." Bruce folds the paper and looks dead straight at me and I frown. Bruce hasn't said he  _needs_  me in a long time. It stirs a deep feeling within me. He needs me. I like that.

"Wha..." I start.

"No! This is my night and it's my case!" Jason yells. The table rocks as he jumps to his feet and smacks his hands down on the table. The milk from his glass sloshes over the rim and spills onto his breakfast plate.

"Master Jason!" Alfred scolds.

Tim is very focused on his food, ignoring the fact that there is a fight going on and I narrow my eyes at him. What's going on, Timmy?

"Bruce, if Jason's already been working the case with you..." I raise both hands, placating.

"Jason has proved to be a liability in this case, because he cannot detach his personal feelings..."

"Detach my personal feelings? That punk used to deal to my mom. He sells bad drugs and he's dealing to kids in my old neighborhood! He put the girl who used to live downstairs from me in a coma. This is mine!" Another hard smack to the table completely turns the milk glass over and white liquid splashes and runs onto the floor.

Jason's gritting his teeth and glaring at Bruce, green eyes glittering with pent-in rage and I bite my lip. He's about to say something he'll regret.

"Bruce, I have practice today," I say. "The regional meet is this weekend; I can't miss or I'll lose my place on the roster." I keep my eyes on Bruce and keep my voice casual. I even throw in a smile, because someone's gotta do it around here.

The tension in the room is so thick I want to loosen my tie. Tim only has eyes for his plate, Jason only has eyes for Bruce, and Bruce only has eyes for me. He's telling me with his eyes to stop this.

He doesn't want Jason with him, but he doesn't want to say it to him. He wants me to be his excuse. I'm always the excuse. Sorry, Jason, Dick has more training and is better suited to go with me tonight. Sorry, Jason, Dick is better for this job. Not tonight, Jason, Dick is faster than you.

"Stop putting me in the middle," I whisper. I wish I hadn't eaten so much. Every bite of pancake is a brick in my stomach and I do loosen my tie so I can swallow more easily. My Adam's apple feels twice its normal size.

"You always choose him over me!" Jason shouts. "I practice more than him! He's always with Juvenile Justice. He's never here! I am! I'm with you! It's not fair!"

"You need a break!" Bruce finally looks away from me and turns on Jason. He doesn't rise from the table, though Jason's milk is making its way over to his spot. Alfred grabs a towel; he's already gotten Jason's glass and plate off the table. Dabbing at the white mess, Alfred throws nervous glances between my brother and Bruce and then tosses one at me, Do something, his eyes say.

It's always me who has to stop the children.

"Guys, we can work this out..." I try to say.

"Well, Dickie can't go! So, it's either me or you go out alone, because Red Robin there is a bad rookie. Hell, he shouldn't be a 'robin'; I think pigeon better suits him." Jason glares hard at Tim who ducks his head and tries to make himself smaller than he is. I feel a tiny surge of protectiveness for the 12 year old. He's just a kid; his mom and dad's murder was only half a year ago, and he's scared Bruce will get rid of him and he'll have nowhere to go. He's just trying to secure himself a spot on the team.

But Jase is right about him being a rotten little tattletale.

"Leave Tim out of this," Bruce growls. "Jason, you need to cool off. This case is too close to you. Dr. Davis is concerned that you..."

"Dr. Davis isn't supposed to tell you what I tell her!" Jason clenches his fists.

"She has not told me anything you've said, but she is worried about your aggressive behavior when..."

Something comes too close to home? Jason is protective... and he'd kill me if I said this out loud... sentimental as hell. He'll fight tooth and nail if he thinks something might hurt someone he cares about. It's not a bad way to be, but Jase goes too far a lot of the time; more times than I can count and more times than Bruce knows about. Though, with Tim here, Bruce is catching up on those times.

"You said that isn't a problem. You said working cases is an outlet. I've helped you bring in more crooks than Dick has this year! I want this one, Bruce! Please."

Oh God, he's begging. Bruce, let him go with you tonight. Don't make him cry, and don't make me the reason why you break his heart...again.

There's a pause around the table, a moment so quiet and tense I swear I hear heartbeats. Tim's fork scrapes his plate and Jason's hands grip the edge of the table. Bruce is strangling his newspaper in one hand, eyes going from Jason to me. His eyes say to me, Do something.

Jason looks at me, Do something!  
I taste chocolate chip pancakes at the back of my throat.

"Dick, tell him you don't want to go!" Jason pleads.

"Dick..."

I shove away from the table and run out of the dining room, barely making it to the guest restroom in time. Bye-bye Smiley Face.

Chocolate tastes a lot better than other things coming back up, but puking still sucks.

Well, at least they're not staring at me anymore.

I spit up a few more chocolate chips, then sit back, catching my breath. With my stomach empty, I feel a lot better. Maybe I should start skipping breakfast, less fighting and less puking that way. But then there's dinner to look forward to, less fighting and more cold silences that make me lose my appetite.

I don't know what Bruce and Jase need to do, but I wish they'd do it somewhere else. Guilt makes me double over the toilet again. I clutch the cool porcelain bowl. I shouldn't think things like that. Bruce and Jason are in trouble, and I wanna help, but what do I know? I shut my eyes and do the only thing I know how: What would you do, Mom?

My mom was good at solving family arguments, but arguments between my Rom family didn't involve maiming people. "Aunts" and "uncles" and "cousins" fought about traditions and the younger generation marrying outsiders. Things ended with two-cheek kisses...and sometimes the occasional spit wad. True there was a lot of yelling and a lot of cussing, but you knew, because people were always telling you how much they loved you, that no one ever meant any of the bad things said.

Bruce and Jase... one day, they're both going to say things they regret to each other, and they'll mean every word of it. Their relationship will never be the same, and I'll always be in the middle playing mediator.

I choke and spit out sour saliva. I swear they're giving me an ulcer.

I grab some toilet paper to blow my nose and stand up, flushing the toilet. In the bathroom mirror, I look a perfect wreck. My eyes are watery and my face is pale. I splash some water on it, and scrounge around in the sink drawer for the pack of guest toothbrushes Alfie keeps in here.

The knock on the restroom door comes as I'm squirting toothpaste on the bristles. "Yeah?" I jam the toothbrush in my mouth, working it around my teeth and gums.

"Are you all right? Can I come in?" Bruce's concerned voice calls through the door.

"I'm fine, just give me a minute," I say, words garbled by toothpaste. I almost tell him 'No, I'm not fine. You're making me sick, Bruce, you and Jason.' But that would be mean. Ever since I got sick last year just me hinting at being anything other than A-okay has Bruce freaking out and calling Dr. Leslie. I've got a chronic kidney condition that I have to take medicine for, and yeah, last year was scary. I never want to see the inside of an ICU again, but we gotta move on, Bruce.

I sigh, stomach lurching again at the thought of joining Jason and Bruce at the table again. Who would have ever thought that me, Richard John Grayson, would want to pass up a chance to be with people in favor of being alone? I grew up constantly surrounded by people, the kind of people who don't care anything about personal space. Wayne Manor and Gotham elite society used to be alien and terrible compared to what I knew and seven years later, it sometimes still is... but right now, it's not. Now, I want meters of distance and personal space between me and everyone else.

I want to say: Go away Bruce; leave me alone.

But I can't do that. Someone's got to keep the children from killing each other. Someone's gotta stay between Jason and Bruce. Someone's gotta smile.

I drop the used toothbrush in the trash can by the sink and practice my smile.

Congratulations, Dickie-bird, you're a Crest Kid.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce drives me to school. He insists that Gotham Academy is on the way to whatever meeting he's going to. I know it's not, but I also know he's sorry about breakfast and he doesn't know how to say so without seeming unmanly so he's giving me a brother-free ride.

"Your stomach, how is it?" Bruce asks. We're stopped at a train crossing in the center of downtown Gotham. The streets are packed with cars and pedestrians on their way to work or school. I see kids with backpacks and umbrellas. The sky is a dingy gray, though the weatherman says it won't rain.

I find myself rubbing my middle unconsciously and stop. "It's fine." Sore and empty, but fine. Bruce's eyes are on the hand that had been rubbing my stomach.

"You've been vomiting a lot lately. Any flank pain?" He asks.

"It's this stupid medicine. It makes me sick to my stomach"—like you and Jason— "I'm fine, Bruce!" I snap. Geez. It's been three months since Dr. Leslie had to remove any kidney- rock-candy stuck in my bladder. Getting kidney stones and having them shift around and clog my pipes hurts like a mother, and I don't keep quiet about it. "I'll tell you if I'm not."

Bruce's jaw tightens and he doesn't say anything and I slump in my seat, feeling like an ass. I didn't mean to snap at Bruce like that, he's just worried. But I hate when he treats me like an invalid.

"Sorry," I say.

"Don't apologize," Bruce grunts. He makes a smooth left turn. "I owe you one for this morning. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that, especially not in front of Jason and Tim."

I snort and shoot him a sideways glance. " _You're_  apologizing for a Bat decision? Are  _you_  okay?"

"Dick." Bruce uses that tone, the one that tells me he's either about to say something profound, or that I'm in deep shit. "I'm pulling Jason from the team."

There's a falling sensation in my gut, like the floor's disappeared from under me. I'm on a trapeze and my line's been cut—like Dad and Mom when they fell. There's no net. I hear people screaming in my head, so loud I can't hear my parents. I really don't know if they screamed or not. I did, though.

"Bruce, you can't! It'll kill him!" I shout, gripping the dashboard in front of me, anything to stop the hurtling sensation. Jason lives to be Falcon. If Bruce makes him stop, he'll... "Bruce, no!"

"I don't want him to get hurt, Dick. And with the way he's going and acting, he's going to get hurt," Bruce says. "I've had Tim keeping an eye on him. Jason's been talking to a boy who lives in his old apartment complex. This boy told Jason where and when he can find Cellucci alone, and Jason's kept this information to himself."

My feet find the ground. "Give him a chance to tell you about it, Bruce."

"It was two days ago. He's been stocking up on charges. There's bomb residue in his room. Tim..."

"God, Bruce! You've turned Tim into your little spy. You wonder why Jase and Tim can't get along? You won't let them! Did you see how Tim was afraid to even look at us over his breakfast while you and Jase were fighting?"

"Dick, you're ignoring facts." Bruce's tone stays level and calm.

And you're ignoring everything else. "You're hurting Jason. You're hurting Tim. Alfred's worried, and I can't stand it. Jason and Tim are fighting all the time and I have to break it up. You and Jason are fighting all the time and I have to break it up. Jason's upset all the time and he's scared, and he's not talking to me as much as he normally would about it, because you're pitting him against me like you're pitting him against Tim."

He feels you squeezing him out of the group, Bruce.

Bruce retreats into one of his infamous long silences, and it's fine by me. I turn on the radio and make sure to switch it from the news to a pop station just to irritate Bruce. We pull into the parent pick-up/drop off lot of Gotham Academy ten minutes later listening to the stylings of the great Justin Bieber. Well, Bruce is. I have in my headphones. The Benz reaches the curb and I unlock my door and unfasten my seatbelt, ready to jump out without another word to Bruce, but Bruce's strong hand grips my elbow. He snatches out one of my ear buds.

"It's for the best, Dick. I've thought about this for a long time."

I give him a hard look, and I hope it's as cold as I feel right now. "I don't want any part of it. If anyone asks, I don't know about it. And I'm not working with you tonight."

"Dick..."

I get out of the car and slam the door. Bruce waits there, even when the drivers behind him start blowing their horns. He doesn't roll down the window like a normal person to carry on the conversation; no, he just sits there, knowing that I'm going to get back in the car because he isn't finished talking.

Well, you know what, Bruce? Screw you.

I shrug my book bag onto my shoulders and turn my back on the Bat who doesn't know how to treat family. And once again, it's all on me. The weight of keeping everyone happy is on my back and it's gonna break. I pass through the iron gate of the school and travel through the courtyard without paying specific attention to anyone. I don't want to make small talk with anybody. I don't want to force smiles on my face. I don't want to be here.

The courtyard wraps around the school. Each garden path leads to an entrance to the castle-like building. I take a narrower path, one that leads to the gyms and pools, but I stop before I get to the gym and lean against a stone column. I slide to the ground and fold my legs under me.

The bell rings for first period but I don't move. A few other students pass me by, jogging to make it to their classes before the tardy bell rings. One or two of them greet me, but don't stop to notice that I don't respond to them. The last bell rings and I'm alone. The courtyard is quiet except for the sound of the wind. It's a cold day, not cold enough for snow or ice, but definitely cool enough for a thick jacket and gloves. I've got both, but what I wouldn't give for something to put over my ears as the wind clips them. Coolness from the stone ground seeps in through my slacks, numbing my seat. I don't care. I tilt my head back and stare at the gray sky. Stupid Bruce.

Feet crunch on pebbles and I look around. I don't see anybody, but I know someone's there, watching me. I spring to my feet ready for anything but the white-haired kid who steps out of the shadows of the columns and speaks in perfect, unaccented Sinte.

" _Hello, cousin. Long time no see_."  


	3. Chapter 3

I haven't heard Sinte since I was eight years old. Bruce used to try when I first moved into the manor, but I told him he didn't have to. It had hurt too much to hear those words coming from an outsider... and his accent was so bad I couldn't really understand him anyway.

I stare at the white-haired boy. He's a few inches taller than me (like everyone else), thin as a rail and so pale he's almost as incandescent as his hair, but what catches me are those eyes. They're a blue so bright they almost sizzle with energy and a flurry of excitement ripples through me as I recognize this person. I look him up and down. The boy's wearing a Gotham Academy blazer that's a size too large for him over well-worn blue jeans and a black Nirvana t-shirt, and sporting a canvas backpack covered with "I Voted" buttons. He's looking at me, a tentative smile on his lips. He fidgets and taps his fingers against his thighs.

" _Dick, do you remember me_?" His voice is different, older, but he uses that language, the one from my old life and feelings of nostalgia wash over me along with the smells of mountain air, roasting meats and the sound of boisterous laughter. I feel a tiny hand tugging on my sleeve, and I almost look over to see a little boy with platinum hair ' _Dickie! I found puppies! Come see!_ '

I take a step toward the older version of that little boy, licking the inside of my lower lip. It's been seven almost eight years. What's he doing here now? What's his game? Suspicion keeps me from taking another step. And then there's always the chance that I'm wrong, and it's not him. "Pietro?" I try.

His eyes light up and a wide grin regresses his face from fifteen to seven. " _Yeah! It's me! You remember!_ " He starts to come to me, but I step back and God, watching his face collapse is like seeing Jason after Bruce tells him he's taking me out on patrol instead of him. The hurt there just about undoes me.

" _Uh... I_..." He bites his lip and he goes back to tapping his thighs, watching me, eyes unsure and anxious.

I'm frozen in place, but my body wants to rush to this guy and throw my arms around him. Pietro Maximoff, a blast from the past. In my old life, on breaks from the circus, my parents and I traveled through the Balkans with my dad's people, the Rom. Living in the caravan was an unending party. There was always music, always dancing and story-telling, and everyone was family. There were no closed doors, no long silences, no pitting one brother against another, no fathers hurting their kids...

I know Pietro has to be here for a reason. Everyone always wants something, right? But you know what? That kind of thinking is "Gotham" thinking. Pietro's not "Gotham", he's not  _gadje_ , and I bet he hasn't forgotten...

I let out the breath I'd been holding and go to him like I'd been wanting to and, after a beat, put my arms around him. His arms wrap around my back, too, and he pulls me closer and squeezes until I can't breathe, and I reciprocate with a wheezy laugh.

No, he hasn't forgotten.

We release each other, laughing breathlessly and grinning like big dummies.

Maybe a Rom can never forget how to hug even when they haven't really done it in a very long time. I may be rusty, but my body still knows what to do.

"Pietro!  _What are you doing here_?" I speak in Sinte; I take his wrist and look around for campus security. They roam the grounds between classes looking for strays and trespassers. The kids of Gotham's most elite go here, and kidnappings and terrorist attacks are serious realities. " _How did you get in_?" I know he's no student dressed like that. The blazer may have fooled a few people not looking too hard, but after an initial glance, Pietro would have some explaining to do.

My cousin shrugs and gives me a little smirk that takes me back a decade. I'm in Grandma Elena's trailer nicking blackberry tarts with Pietro while two other cousins play lookout. " _Let's get out of here_ ," I say.

I pull him toward the gym. There's no class this period, so it should be empty. The lights are on in the large gymnasium but our footsteps echo in the quiet. The floor is hardwood, polished daily so that it shines. Red lines mark up the basketball court and the backboards are down, ready for the first class of the day to play a few games. A netted cart full of blue and red basketballs sits in the middle of the court.

Pietro walks over to it, his sneakers making soft scuffing noises across the floor.

I watch him from the sidelines picking out a basketball and tossing it into the air. He dribbles, running with the ball and performing a perfect layout shot. He does a few jump shots, too. There's a tightness in the way he moves, a restriction, like he's holding back what he can really do.

I take off my jacket and toss it onto a bleacher behind me, then lose the tie. I take two steps onto the court and he whips around and passes the ball to me. I catch it at chest level and dribble toward the basket. I sink a three-pointer and let Pietro catch the rebound.

"Good shot," he says in perfect English, and I frown. "Want to play one-on-one?"

The Pietro I knew spoke four languages, Sinte, Bulgarian, Romanian and Serbo-Croatian. All of those tongues make cases for heavily accented English in beginners, but the only accent Pietro has is a slight Brooklyn twang. He doesn't sound foreign at all. That paired with the easy way he strung that slang together tells me he's probably fluent in English and has been here, in the States, for a while.

I switch from Sinte to English to test my theory. "Pietro, I'm happy to see you." God, what an understatement. "I'm  _very_  happy to see you, but... what are you doing here?"—and alone at that. My Pietro couldn't be alone. If I wasn't with him, his sister was, or one of his parents.

Pietro stops dribbling, holding the ball close to his chest, and frowns at me. "I'm here to see you, DG. I missed you."

Damn, I'm good. His English is perfect—slick and smooth, like a conman. The flutters of excitement in my chest die down as suspicion sinks back in and my limbs are heavy with dread.

"After all this time?" I press, but his words, 'I missed you', had made my heart fly. I'm missed? I didn't think anyone missed me. No one from the clan tried to contact me after my parents died. Only my circus family fought to have me in their custody.

Pietro's face is a portrait of grief. He lets the basketball fall and he comes to me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Uncle John and Aunt Mary didn't deserve what happened to them. When I heard about it... I cried for a while."

"No one from the clan ever tried to contact me. No one tried to get me," I say, and all the feelings of abandonment I'd felt during my first months at Wayne Manor come flooding back to me. I'm in a dark closet all alone with a stranger named Bruce Wayne wanting me to let him in. "Why?"

Such a small word, only three letters, but it carries the weight of an elephant. It's a bomb that's been hidden in my gut since I was eight years old. I'd buried it, but Pietro just standing here in front of me has dug it back up.

"Why did you guys leave me? We're family." My voice is small to my own ears.

I had so many families, my mom and dad, the circus, the clan, and now my brothers and Bruce and Alfred. Some people say "family" and it's just a term to label a bunch of people blood-related to each other. There's no emotion attached. They don't go out of their way to help each other or love each other because of that word. To me, family is a force that makes a bond between people, blood-related or not, that you can't ignore.

Family is for life. It's all we got. And when you don't have it... It's why I always have to be the somebody who smiles and why I have to stay in the middle. But the clan didn't need me to do that... they don't need me at all.

"Why, Pietro?"

He bows his head and whispers in Sinte...

... a prayer for the dead.

I'm falling again.

"The caravan burned. A hate group came in the night and... everything burned. Some of us got out of the fire, but they were waiting, and they had dogs and guns." He shakes his head, hands clutching my shoulders hard enough to hurt.

"When?" I choke, seeing flames devouring my childhood of rolling down hills and chasing puppies and making faces at outsiders.

"Before Uncle John and Aunt Mary. I didn't know about them until a lot later, Dickie. I always thought you were safe. If I had known you were here, in America, like me, I would have come before now."

I swallow a mouthful of sour saliva. So, that's why. The bomb inside doesn't explode; it melts and burns through my intestines. I'm eight and in the closet with Bruce outside, wondering why my other family didn't try to have me with them. And all that time...all this time... they were gone. Before my parents were gone, they were gone. None of us knew, or maybe my parents did but protected me from it.

"Are you okay? You look like you're gonna hurl."

With his face so close to mine, I notice the bags under his eyes and the gauntness of his features. Couple that with the wrinkled clothes and I know he's been on the road a while. A runaway?

"I'm okay"—and about to be gross. I make my way to the locker room door and hear Pietro right behind me. We enter the small room full of black lockers and benches and file into the restroom area with toilet stalls, urinals and sinks. I spit into the first sink I get to and turn the water on.

Pietro puts his hand on my back. "I shouldn't have told you like that."

"No, it's okay," I say, spitting again for good measure and waiting to see if anything else wants to come up. Dr. Leslie and me are gonna have to talk about this preventative medication. True, I'd rather puke than have stones, but this sensitive stomach stuff is not gonna work out, not with all the crap going down in my life. Bruce wasn't lying about me throwing up a lot lately. I keep spearmint gum on me at all times. I take a breath and do a test swallow; then turn to face Pietro, placing my hands behind me on the sink.

We stare at each other for a long while. What do you say after the bomb melts, except, "I'm sorry, Pietro. I know... I know what it's like to go through... that." I know what it's like to watch your parents die because of evil people.

He shrugs and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling, eyes glittering. "Yeah, me too." His voice is light, too light. "But it was a long time ago. Can't think about that bad stuff forever; it'll make ya crazy."

Spoken like a true genius, but I know he still thinks about it. You can't put the murder of your parents behind you, and you can't keep it in either. It'll eat you up. I wonder how he dealt with it... or if he dealt with it at all. He's so skinny it can't be healthy and he fidgets like someone with a drug habit.

"Is everything okay, Tro? With you? How did you get here, and why are you here now? Shouldn't  _you_  be in school?" Does he go to school?

"Everything's fine. Just passing through, you know buses always take the scenic route. I got a foster family waiting for me in Jersey, but I picked up a Gotham paper yesterday from one of the bus stations, great article about you in there, by the way. I couldn't pass through this area and not look you up, Dick."

A foster family in Jersey? "Where are you coming from?" Social services is getting really lazy if they let a kid hop a bus to his new home instead of bringing him there themselves.

"NYC," he says with no emotion. "The other family just didn't work out. It's no big deal. I'm used to 'em not working out and it's not like I like any of them."

My stomach gurgles in sympathy...and guilt. (I swear I'm the guiltiest person I know) If Bruce hadn't wanted me, I would be like Pietro, in foster care. "But how did you get here, to the States I mean? I'm here because this is where the circus was that night...and I was born in Gotham City, so I'm a citizen by default." If I wasn't a citizen, and Bruce hadn't fought to keep me with him, I would have been deported after Zucco's trial.

Pietro sighs. "I came over with somebody."

"A family member?" I ask. His twin sister? "Wanda?"

Pietro flinches and I feel like someone punched me in the face. Dammit. She's dead, too. "I'm sor..."

"Wanda was with me, yeah," he interrupts me, and I relax a bit. Wanda's not dead. I see her with her thick black hair and snapping blue eyes, like Pietro's. "We were brought over together, and then we got separated."

Ripped apart by the system? "Why didn't the person who brought you over keep you both?" I ask.

Pietro's eyes are downcast. "Too much work." He wipes at his eyes, but he's not crying. A smile works its way back onto his face, a Crest kid smile. (Must run in the family.)

"But hey, I'm not here to talk about all that! I came because I found out you're here, and it's been forever since I've seen you! Someone from home!  _Family_!" He's standing next to me and draping his arm over my shoulders. "I can't stay too long, just until 5:00. Then I gotta catch another bus. I can just hang around until you get out of school, and if you're not busy, we can do something. If—if it's okay that is. I know you're like a rich man's kid and all, and maybe you got some fancy thing you're supposed to be doing today. And hey, I'm keeping you from class right now. I'll just..."

Some things haven't changed. His mouth still goes a mile a minute. Jason asked me once how I got used to Wally West. The answer is that I never had to get used to Wally, because I was already used to fast-talking, hyperactive people. I clamp my hand over Pietro's mouth and wait for it to stop moving.

"Chill, Tro," I say. "You're fine." He's not. He's rundown and tired and lonely. I see it all in his body language. He probably needs to be around someone he knows. "We can hang out."

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to see a text from Bruce.

_We will talk after school_

I shake my head and stuff the phone in my pocket. Stupid Bruce. Dread washes over me as I think about him and what he's going to do to Jason and how he's using Tim, and what it's going to do to us, our family. I told him I don't want a part of it, and I didn't lie.

I'm not going home after school.

"Let's go now," I say. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be where Bruce can find me easy. "We'll get a cab. Are you hungry? We can get food."

"I like food." Pietro's eyes are crackling with humor. He grins at me and his weird cowlicks in front (geez... I can't believe he still has those things) look like horns for a moment before he slicks them back into bangs that hang on either side of his face. He wraps his arms around me so quick I gasp and he lifts and spins me in a circle like a little kid.

He sets me down and practically skips. He's a live wire. "This is gonna be fantastic! I can't believe you're gonna skip school for me! Oh, we've gotta go to one of those goofy photo booths and get pictures. And then we have to go to Chinatown for noodles! And I want to karaoke! Oh, and I saw this bakery with cakes shaped like cars and sneakers! We so have to get cake!"

I stare at the whirlwind of energy in front of me and don't bother calming him down. His giddiness is becoming mine. I laugh with him and feel my stomach truly settle for the first time in weeks. I want to be excited about cake and noodles and... I want to talk to Pietro, I want to remember picking blueberries and burying treasure and sitting in my mom's lap listening to cousins sing folk songs.

"Okay! Okay!" I say with a laugh. "But, shhh... we have to sneak off campus. This place is guarded like Fort Knox. How did you get in anyway? And where did you get that jacket?"

Pietro twirls, modeling for me. "You like? I swiped it from a locker. And as for getting in, this place isn't as tight as you think. Come on. I'll get us over the wall, Dickie." He salutes me and links his arm through mine.

I can't resist him, never could. He makes you wanna laugh and be silly... and I'm crazy about his lack of regard to personal space and societal customs. Men don't link arms, but Pietro does. Men don't pick up other men and spin them around, but Pietro does.

I swear it's like we were never apart. That force, the bond between family members, is there and it's pulling at me. The time we lost doesn't matter, because to people like us, family is forever.

A shadow of my earlier suspicion comes back like I knew it would, because though I hate "Gotham" it's in me and I have to think that long, lost relatives always want something from you.   Or that they're bringing trouble with them. And I know this suspicion is gonna stay at the back of my mind until Pietro tells me what he wants, or what he needs.

Until then, though, I let him pull me. 


	4. Chapter 4

We end up in Gotham's Chinatown. I buy some clothes off a few vendor carts so I can lose my school uniform in favor of jeans and a sweatshirt. I get two jackets and an extra pair of gloves, too, to share with Pietro. His jacket sucks and he doesn't have gloves.

He promises to pay me back later, but I'm not gonna hold him to it. After I cram my uniform, choking tie and all, in my backpack, we spend an hour walking the streets of Chinatown, eating steaming noodles from Styrofoam cups with chopsticks and talking about school. He used to go to a public school in New York in a town called Bayville.

Bayville was on the news this morning. "Hey, do you know your old high school got shut down because of mutant protests?" I ask him.

He slurps more noodles and drinks the broth. "Mm... doesn't surprise me."

I pass him my cup of noodles. I only ate about half, but I'm pretty full and he looks like he can use a few meals. He grins at me and starts in on my food with gusto.

"You know any mutants?" I ask. I don't think mutants hide their identities like most metas do. A lot of the people I see on the news don't wear masks, and some mutants can't hide their identities if they try. Masks don't do much for big, blue and furry.

Pietro shrugs. "Maybe. Who knows? Most people don't go around saying, Hi, I'm a mutant. Do you know any?"

I shrug at him and flash him my shit-eater. "Who knows? Most people don't go around saying, Hi, I'm a mutant. But I have met Superman; he saved me from kidnappers."

Pietro twirls noodles around a single chopstick. "Dude, cool. What about Batman? He's a meta, right?"

"No," I say, drawing out the word so that it seems like I'm thinking about it. "I met him a time or two, and he's just a big guy with a lot of cool toys."

"It's funny, DG. You know how aliens and metas put on masks and capes and get kitties down from trees and then people erect statues in their honor? Some mutants do the same, but once it gets out that they've got the X-gene, bye-bye free lunch. I wonder how many metas are really mutants in disguise. I mean, you can't really know until you run a genetic test."

I hum. He's right. "But you know they run those tests on all babies born in certain hospitals. Some OBGYNs run them in the womb."

"I hear they do it every time you go to the doctor and let them draw blood," Pietro says. "Guess that's why Rom think going to  _gadje_ doctors is dealing with the devil, huh?"

I snort. "I've got two bum kidneys that would have liked for certain Rom to have gone to  _gadje_  doctors to have some medical records on file."

Pietro stops eating and stares at me, looking horrified. "What? Are you okay? You don't look sick, and you're doing gymnastics..."

I smirk at him, touched that he's so worried about me. "I'm fine. My kidneys just have a problem breaking down amino acids and I get kidney stones. Hurts like a bitch when it happens, but I'm good."

Pietro continues to frown and he sips broth from my cup. "You know, Uncle Vic used to get stones all the time. You remember?"

I frown, too, trying to remember Uncle Vic. He had been a tall, thin guy with jaundice that spat when he talked. He was really funny, though, and did the best impressions. But I do remember him lying down a lot, and the old ladies of the clan always mixing up medicines for him.

"I don't know if he was actually related to you, though. Was he?" Pietro asks.

I rub my chin, deep in thought. The family had been so big, and there were so many married-in's and adopted in's that only the old people really knew who was who anymore. Uncle Vic could have been my real uncle. I give Pietro a small push. I know Pietro isn't my real cousin. He and Wanda are adopted-in's.

I sigh, not wanting to think about people in past tense.

"Ooh! Look, dumplings on a stick!"

Pietro's at the food vendor cart selling kebobs and fat dumplings before I can smack my forehead. He buys four dumpling sticks and a kebob and joins me, holding my cup of noodles in one hand and the food on sticks in the other. I let him eat in peace as I think about what I want to ask him.

He never told me who brought him and Wanda to the states, or if he's ever tried to look for Wanda since they were separated. I'll help him find her in any way I can. It shouldn't be too hard for me. I can hack just about anything, but Bruce said no ice cream for a year if I hack the Pentagon or something along those lines. The president's personal files just aren't worth my Rocky Road.

"Tro, do you know where Wanda is?" I ask.

Pietro chokes mid-swallow and I thump him on the back a few times.

"You okay?" I ask.

He gives me a cross-eyed look and drinks down my noodle broth. "Yeah, I know where she is."

He leaves it at that. No smirk, nothing. He finishes off his kebob and two dumpling sticks. "Have you seen her?" I press him and have to wait for him to finish eating. He polishes off all of his dumplings and gobbles up the noodles in the bottom of the cup. He hums something under his breath while he chews.

"Tro?"

"You know what we need now, Dickie? We need bubble milk tea with tapioca! That stuff's great!" He puts all of his trash in the empty noodle cup and spins to catch my arms. "I saw a shop about two streets over! Oh, and there's karaoke next to it, one of the one's where you can get a room and record yourself."

I let him pull me as he talks. So, he doesn't want to talk about Wanda. I can't figure out if he's scared to, or if it just makes him unhappy. I can't read him like I do other people. He's jittery and fidgety but I don't think all of it comes from nervousness. He's unbelievably hyper; worse than Wally. I swear a few times he's moved away from me so fast it's like he vanished, and nothing holds his attention for more than five seconds, unless it's food.

He was an energetic kid; he kept up with me, but he was never like this. I don't wanna accuse him, but if he  _is_  on some kind of drugs, he can ask me for help.

* * *

 

(~*~)

In a pink shop with Free Wi-Fi and Hello Kitty on the walls, Pietro buys me a bubble milk tea and himself a taro tea loaded with tapioca balls and discusses the benefits of tapioca and how it aides digestion and how he's going to research kidney stones for me. Over four taro teas and a box of strawberry pocky he asks about the Gotham Academy gymnastics team. I almost miss it until he huffs at me and taps his fingers.

"Well, it's no trapeze act, but it's kinda fun. I just joined the team this year, 'cuz my school counselor let me know that my college applications were boring."

"College apps, already? But we're sophomores," Pietro says, taking my tea and sucking down some of my tapioca balls.

"I'm a senior," I say and wave him off when he tries to give my drink back. I'm not supposed to drink tea, but hey, he bought it for me and I like tapioca balls.

He sucks down more tapioca and studies me. "Dude, you skipped two grades? That's bad ass. If I stay in one school for long enough, maybe I'll do it, too. High school's such a drag. And if I graduate early and go on to college, I don't have to wait 'til 18 to be considered an adult. Is that why you're doing it? You want out of Bruce Wayne's house?"

I blink at him. "No." I mean, eventually I'm gonna move out, but I never really thought about it. I could be considered an adult when I start college next year, especially if I decide to go away instead of going to Gotham U or somewhere else that's close.

"You like it there?" Pietro asks. "Geez... of course you do. You live in a mansion with servants. But that guy, Wayne, he's nice?"

"Yeah, he's great," I say. "He adopted me, Tro. He's my dad."

Pietro stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Just like that? He's your dad? What about Uncle John?"

I sigh and do take my tea back for another sip, thinking about how to explain Bruce Wayne, the guy I think of as my dad now, to someone who knew my other dad. "He's my second dad. He doesn't want to replace my real dad, and I don't want him to. But it's nice to have someone looking out for me. I..." trail off because Pietro's eyes are haunted.

I'm such an ass. His parents are dead, the people who brought him here took him away from his sister, and he's being bounced from home to home. "I'm sorry, man."

Pietro blinks, trying to get rid of his solemn expression, but I give him a light punch on the shoulder and let him have my tea again. I watch him swirl the tea around, making the tapioca balls roll to one side of the cup.

"So, what's with the shades inside the building?" he asks. "People are gonna think I'm hanging out with a celebrity." He chucks me under my chin and I swat him.

"You are. Bruce Wayne's gypsy brat. Every reporter in Gotham would love to get shots of me skipping school and hanging out in Chinatown."

"What? You mean I could be snapping pics of this and getting rich selling them to the press?" He reached for his backpack and rifles around, pulling out a phone and pretending to take pictures. I give him a few poses; my favorite one involves flipping him the bird.

"Now, now, that's not very family-friendly," he drawls. "Give us a smile."

My cell vibrates and I check my watch: 10:32. The attendance office must have called the manor to announce that I'm not at school. I pull out my phone to check the Caller ID. It's the house calling, meaning it's Alfred. Damn.

"Hello?" I answer, sounding as pleasant and polite as I dared.

"Master Richard, where are you?" Alfie does not sound pleasant and polite.

"I'm safe, Alfred."

"Safe where?" Alfred's proper tone has a hint of irritation in it. Being in trouble with Bruce is one thing, but being in trouble with Alfie is scary.

"Uh, Chinatown. I'm with my cousin from the Balkans. He popped in for a visit," I say, glancing at Pietro who's batting his eyes at me.

"Why could he not 'pop' into the manor and wait for you to arrive after school? Master Richard, this is most unacceptable, and I will be informing Master Bruce of it, and we shall be expecting you home right after school whether you intend to accompany Master Bruce to his event this evening or not. In fact, you are to remain where you are, and I am going to come and collect you."

"Ah... I..." Using my hand to cover the mouthpiece I whisper to Pietro, "Uh... do you want to come to my house?"

My cousin sighs and his bony shoulders slump. "That... isn't a good idea, Dickie. If you have to go, then..." He pokes at the tapioca balls settled at the bottom of the clear tea cup. "Just do. I'll be okay. I'll just catch an earlier bus."

My heart sinks. I had put it out of mind that there's a time limit on his visit. He really did just pop in, and he's gonna pop right back out. "Why can't you come home with me? Spend the night, and we can take you where you need to go tomorrow. Just call your new family and let them know you stopped off in Gotham." I don't want him to leave. We're haven't had enough time together.

Pietro shrugs. "Can't do that. My parole doesn't allow it. I'm already gonna catch heat for getting off the bus here. I was supposed to ride straight through. I'll get to the new place after my designated time."

"Parole?" I keep my voice down, but I know shock is all over my face. Pietro was arrested? "What did you do?"

"Stole some stuff," he says. "I just needed some quick cash, but I got caught."

Stole some stuff? "Tro, if you're in trouble tell me. I can get Bruce to help you." I can help you.

The tapioca balls are gone in the blink of an eye and my cousin's standing. "That's nice, Dickie. But he can't. So, uh, you leavin' now, or we still havin' fun?" His bright eyes crackle with energy and he quirks a brow at me.

I'm still holding my phone, and I know Alfred's still on the other end, listening.

"Hello, Alfred?"

"Master Bruce is not going to be pleased with you this evening."

"Well, I'm not pleased with him either. Tell him he owed me, and now he doesn't. I'll come home on my own."

"And do you have anything for me to tell Master Jason?"

It's like a kick in the nuts. If Bruce is gonna wash Jason out, I need to be there to mop up the mess. But God, I don't want to see it.

"Tell him... Tell him..."

I squeeze the phone and close my eyes for a minute, trying not to see Jason's face. "Tell him I'll be home for dinner. And ask Bruce to please not do anything until then."

"Very well, Master Richard. Be safe, lad."

"Thanks, Alfie."

The line clicks and I disconnect the call on my end as well. Putting my phone away, I gaze up at my cousin who's practically squirming. He beams at me. "Karaoke now?"

"Karaoke now," I agree and I stick out my arm for him to grab and pull.

"Okay, so I know the song I want to do, but I'm thinking we need to do a duet, too, and do a music video. I think a music video would be awesome. I wonder if this place even does the music video thing. It looks like it should because it's all upscale. I bet they have costumes, but I know the special effects will be cheesy, but it'll be really fun! Hey, do you think we should do a ballad or an up-tempo? You can still dance, right?"

* * *

 

(~*~)

We leave the karaoke place with two demos and a video of us singing "Glad You Came" in green wigs and platforms. We don't sound half bad and Pietro plans our music career over nachos in a Mexican restaurant. He offers to share, but by now I know his appetite and won't get between him and a chip.

Every now and then he looks at his phone, checking the time.

"Hey, it's only 1:00. You've got hours before five." And I'll have one hour after that to get home in time for dinner which is at 6:15 sharp every night.

"Yeah, you're right. It just feels like a lot of time has gone by is all," Pietro says. "Can't believe it's still so early." He stares at our waitress a second too long, biting his lip when she asks if he'd like more soda. He tenses up as a middle age couple passes us on their way to the patio. He practically jumps out of his seat when a bus boy drops a tray of dishes.

"Are you all right?" I ask, he's naturally pale but he's starting to look sick—and I'm worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing-nothing-at-all-no-worries!" He's on his feet and dropping a twenty on the table. "Let's get out here."

I stare at him. "Tro, sit down. Are you..."

"I don't like it here, Dick. Let's go." Pietro's hands are on the table and the fine tremor running through them is making the table vibrate. His eyes plead with me and I suddenly understand. He's not ADHD jittery or drug-twitchy, he's scared.

He's been scared since he came to me.

"Okay. All right." I follow him as he hustles to the door.

"We'll go roller-skating. You know where we can go roller-skating at, huh, Dickie? Um, but let's pick a place that's not downtown, huh? Let's get away from here. I saw a street car. How far will that take us?"

"Into the theater district. We can catch a train, though. A tunnel entrance is only two blocks away."

"Sounds good." He touches the door, but someone else pulls it open from the outside.

Sunlight pours in, illuminating Pietro for a brief moment, and then a voice says, "So here you be, Quicksilver. It about time."

"No," Pietro whispers and backs into me as a tall man with red eyes steps through the door.


	5. Chapter 5

"Don't you get no idea 'bout runnin' away. You got nowhere to go. You git tired 'uh runnin' soon, kid, an' Gambit be tired 'uh chasin' yo ass."

The man's accent is thick, French or Creole, but his phrasing is all bayou: Louisiana.

"Then stop chasing me!' Pietro's voice quivers and his thin hands clasp my arm. He's so close to me I smell his fear. He hugs me tight, putting his lips to my ear. In Sinte, he whispers, " _Thank you for today. You did real good for yourself. Don't mess it up."_

"Tro, who is th...?"

He's gone. He vanished. I stand, staring at the place Pietro was. A light breeze rustles my hair and sweeps a few dollar bills left as tips on tables onto the floor. I can't help turning around in a circle like an idiot, looking for him though I know I'm not gonna find him. A few people looking in my direction are blinking and shaking their heads in astonishment.

Pietro pulled a Flash. My cousin's a meta... or a mutant... what did that guy just call him—Quicksilver.

French curses make me look back to the red-eyed man. He's wearing a long brown trench coat over all black clothing. He's got a moderate build and he moves like he's packing. I ready myself for a fight if he wants to give me one. I can't go all out and fight like Robin, but I don't have to let this guy get away either.

The man pulls a cigarette from his top pocket and slips it between his lips. His eyes glow like hot coals as they bore into mine. He leans close, bringing the scent of leather and sweat with him. I wonder if he thinks he's scaring me. "Careful how you pick yo company, kid."

I grip his collar and his weird eyes widen. "Why are you after him?"

"He yo frien', why you no ask him?" Red Eyes takes my hands off his collar. "Ain't you s'posed to be in school? You betta' run home or Gambit call yo parents. If you got 'em." Red Eyes touches the end of his cigarette and the butt begins to smoke. "If you see Maximoff ag'in give ol' Gambit a call."

I feel it because I'm trained by the best and I catch his wrist before he tucks whatever it is he has into my jacket pocket. Red-Eyes nearly bites through his cigarette and glares, then barks out a laugh.

"You take this number, no. It help you and yo frien' in de long run."

I snatch the playing card out of his hand. Ace of Spades, and there's a phone number with a Washington DC area code scrawled in the white spaces in red ink. "You a meta?" I ask him.

Red Eyes smirks at me. "Why you no ask yo frien' wha' he is. Then you know."

A growl is building in my chest at this guy's flippant attitude. Yeah, I'm short, skinny, and packing nothing but a backpack full of clothes and a karaoke CD, but dammit I'm dangerous and demand to be treated with respect.

"You..."

"Is there a problem here?"

I turn at the clunky steps of a man in a dress shirt and tie walking up to me and Red Eyes. Must be the manager, he's the only person obviously working in this place who's not wearing a t-shirt that says: ¡Hola! Ask me about our specials!

"This guy..." I start to say, but stop. The warmth of Red Eyes's body standing near me is gone as is his scent. I don't need to look behind me to know that he's gone, and that growl I was working on comes out.

Dammit! Stupid rookie mistake. I ignore the manager who's saying something like he's gonna call the police about truants and storm through the doors of the Mexican restaurant, scowling down the streets moderately crowded with tourists and college kids but no red-eyed Cajun in a trench coat.

The edges of the playing card stab at my fingers as I make a fist around it, crumpling it up. My anger is a cold thing; it freezes my insides and makes my blood ice. But I don't know what I'm angry about exactly. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I start walking, past the tunnel entrance, past the street car stop.

Red Eyes definitely pissed me off. He was playing with me. Pietro... Pietro abandoned me. I want to think that he knew Red Eyes wouldn't try to hurt me if he left, but I don't know Pietro, I  _knew_  Pietro, and the one I knew wouldn't leave a cousin hanging. But that Pietro also couldn't keep a secret if his desserts for a year depended on it. He's in trouble and didn't tell me. I asked him what was wrong and he never found it in himself to be straight with me. Yeah, he was being cautious. What if my years in the Gotham elite had made me into a bigot or something, and I hated mutants and metas like those assholes on TV with picket signs?

God, I don't know. If I had been in his situation, I wouldn't have said anything to me either. It's not like I told him I'm Robin or anything. So, we both kept secrets—but I'm not being actively pursued. I want to help him, and now I don't know where he is, or if he'll come back. His last words to me hadn't sounded final, but they'd had a final feel.

Dammit. I grit my teeth and my hands become fists in my pockets. That's what I'm angry about. A link to my past is out there, scared and alone; he came to me not knowing I could help him, and now he's gone before I can try. Guilt starts chipping away at the ice block of fury inside me. How could he have  _known_  I could help him? I offered him help from Bruce, but he doesn't know what all help from Bruce entails. Maybe Bruce Wayne's fortune couldn't stop Red Eyes and whatever's behind him, but Batman could.

 

Cars and buses and trucks whiz by me. Exhaust fumes envelope me as I pass into an alley where an antiquated phone booth stands. Who the hell uses phone booths anymore? Super heroes, because we love clichés. I do a quick perimeter sweep before entering the booth and I feel the familiar whooshing sensation of traveling through the tubes and overhead I hear an automated female's neutral voice saying, "Arriving, Robin, B01."

Red Eyes said: Why you no ask yo frien' wha' he is?

Because I don't have to, I can find out on my own.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Geez. Six foster homes in three years, and the last one was some sort of boys home for orphaned juvenile delinquents owned by the previous principal of Bayville High School, Raven Darkholme.  (A female Bruce.) The first five homes have notes. The first two homes couldn't deal with his nightmares. (Jerks.) The next two homes couldn't deal with his attitude. (Okay, forgivable.) The fifth home gave him up after he got into legal trouble—vandalism, theft and resisting arrest. (Damn, Tro!) The boys home has no paperwork stating that Pietro has left their custody, and there are no records about a transfer, or documents from a parole officer about his arrival or departure.

His record was expunged in Bayville as if a wealthy benefactor waved his magic wand. And maybe one did. Bayville has a lot of mutant protests, and Pietro could be a mutant, and he could have been lured there with a promise of losing his criminal record. But if that's the case, then the answers to what he's running from and why are in Bayville.

I crack my knuckles, my eyes stinging from prolonged staring at the bright screen of the master computer. I been at this for a couple of hours. Pietro's files are hard to hack, meaning someone's gone through a lot of trouble to secure them. Fingers poised over the keys, I go deeper. Okay, so he was in six homes in the past three years but where was he before all that? The caravan burned when he was about seven or eight. He didn't say when he and Wanda came over, but for his American accent to be so perfect, he had to have left the Balkan area pretty soon after the fire.

Nothing. Come on. There has to be something. You don't just bring two kids overseas without there being any kind of paper trail. Pietro has citizenship... I frown and pull up Pietro's citizenship documents again; they claim he's lived in the US since he was two and his country of origin is Romania. All lies, but who does Pietro know that has the power and influence to have fake legal documents created for him and why?

Hello. Name: Pietro Maximoff Lehnsherr.

Lehnsherr? None of his adopted parents have that last name.

New search: Pietro Lehnsherr

Jackpot.

Lived in Jamestown, New York, attended R.R. Rogers Elementary School and Jefferson Middle School. Parent/Guardian: Eric Lehnsherr...

My fingers pause over the keys at the next words.

...Birth Father.

Hurt flickers in my chest. Tro found his real dad, and he didn't mention  _that_? God, his real dad is alive and he came for Pietro. But why did Eric Lehnsherr let Pietro go into foster care after bringing him into the country and taking him in for a few years. Did he die?

Eric Lehnsherr.

The man's file is as flimsy as his son's. Basic information, born and raised in Romania, immigrated to the US a few months before Pietro was born. Looks like he was only married once to a woman named Magda who is labeled as deceased. Business man, drives a sedan, moderate income, boring, boring, but no reason to give up his kids.

Hm. I type in: Wanda Lehnsherr.

Her records match Pietro's, same schools, same birthplace, date and father... until about two years in, then her records stop. She doesn't exist on paper or in databases after that, and there's no death certificate.

What happened to your sister, Pietro?

Eric Lehnsherr's current address is a P.O. Box... in DC, which is where the area code of the number Red Eyes gave me comes from. Coincidence?

Not in my line of work.

I ran a trace of the phone number earlier, found out it's a cell number (no surprise there) and there's something in it that keeps it from being tracked (letting me know Pietro's bad guys aren't cheap.) But then again, if his bad guys are the ones who bought his green card, of course they aren't cheap. They're probably loaded, like Bruce.

The timer on my watch goes off, but before I can pull my water bottle out of the backpack at my feet, someone's pressing a bottle into my hand. I glance up, and give Wally a fist tap. "You're getting better at that." Not many people can sneak up on me, and none of the people who can are Wally West. He's just too clumsy.

"Dude, you were totally lost in Geek Land. SB could have walked right up on you and you wouldn't have noticed. Whatcha' lookin' at?"

I lean back in the rolling leather chair and push away from the console as I unscrew the top of the water bottle and take a deep drink. "Just some research." I have to close my eyes for a bit. My head is starting to hurt.

"Eric Lehnsherr. Bad guy?" Wally leans against the computer, reading up on Pietro's sperm donor.

"I don't know, maybe," I say. If Lehnsherr's with Red Eyes then yeah, he's gotta be. Unless Red Eyes is just some hired guy who brings back runaways. Maybe Lehnsherr just wants Pietro home, but Pietro is scared shitless of going with Red Eyes, so Lehnsherr can't be too nice. And if he isn't too nice, maybe that's why Pietro didn't tell me about finding him.

"Well... if you're not sure, are you gonna case him?" Wally asks. "I'm into casing could-be baddies. When do we leave?" He flashes me a grin and reaches out to ruffle my hair and I can't help but grin back. Wally West, my friend 'til the end, the only person who can match me in energy on the Team. There's not much I won't do for this guy, but... a tight feeling in my chest won't let me tell him what's really going on. This thing with Pietro is... an internal affair—a family thing.

It's funny how one afternoon with Pietro wakes up that old Rom culture in me. Outsiders are marks for easy cash, but never invited to Sunday dinner with the family. My head throbs. Wally's practically family, I shouldn't feel like he's an outsider, but I just can't help it. It's not his business.

"Nah, no casing, just curious." I transfer all of my searches to my wrist comp before clearing them from the mainframe.

"Yeah?" Wally raises a brow, giving me "the Wally", the stare-down that's as good as Superman's X-ray vision when it comes to reading me. "Curious enough for you to skip school?"

I don't show anything on my face. "Red Tornado told you what time I got here."

"Yup," Wally said. "You should be at gymnastics practice right now. You backing out of Regionals?" Suddenly he's angry and he's on the other side of my chair, grabbing one of my arms. "Is Bruce making you back out of Regionals? I know he thinks you doing professional competitions is a bad idea, but he let up; he can't take it back now. You practiced falling on your ass too hard for that, man!"

I cackle at that. He's not exaggerating. I can't be Robin-good in competition, so I have to mess up from time to time. So instead of practicing perfection, I practice landing with my feet apart, putting hops and steps in my landings, not pointing my toes and going out of bounds. I sprinkle those "moves" into my routines at random. Sometimes, I execute routines clean, sometimes I "goof". I didn't goof at District though, and I don't plan to goof at Regionals.

Bruce would rather I did. He doesn't want me to medal and bring attention to myself, but I'm sorry. I can make myself lose enough points to mean the difference between gold and silver—but I can't make myself lose completely. That's embarrassing, and frankly, Dick Grayson can't show the world he's Robin good, but he's still damned good, or he'll be the laughing stock of Haley's Circus.

"No, it's nothing like that. I just..." Hell, I can actually tell some of the truth here. "Bruce and Jason were at each other's throats again this morning and Bruce told me he's gonna make Jay give up Falcon. I didn't feel like going to school today after that, and hey, I threw up after breakfast, so I should have gotten a 'get out of school card' anyway."

"Shit, Dick. Really?" Wally vanishes and reappears with another rolling chair. He glides across the floor in it, the leather of his seat smacking into mine. "That's harsh. Yeah, Jason has issues, but Bruce is really gonna cut him, and have Tim still out there? That's more than harsh. What's Bruce gonna do next, fit Tim in the Falcon costume?"

Wally's no Jason fan, but he's a good guy who doesn't like for people's feelings to get hurt. "Hey." He spins my chair so that I'm facing him. "You can't let them play tug-o-war with you anymore, man. It's messing with you. I've been covering for you, but the Team's starting to notice that you're...distracted. And, dude, you pee too much."

"Hey, that last part isn't my fault," I grumble. Damn. Well, I thought I was doing a good job at not bringing personal baggage into the workplace, but then again, here I am looking up relatives on the work computer.

"You need a Bat Family break, man." Wally is out of his chair and spinning mine in circles until I plant my feet on the floor to make it stop moving. "You should come spend the weekend with me! We got all sorts of senior pranks going on at Central High. We're gonna fill the swimming pool with frogs Friday night. You gotta come!"

I laugh. "How many frogs?" Central High is definitely cooler than Gotham Academy. We don't do senior pranks there; we do senior charities.

"As many as I can catch. That's gonna be a lotta frogs, dude... and the best part, the girls swim team has practice Saturday morning. And hey, I'll take you to Regionals Saturday morning and sit in your cheer section! And when you win, we can celebrate. Whatever you wanna do, it's all you!"

Wally's green eyes are bright with excitement and it makes me a little sad. By this time next year, we'll both be in college and referring to moments like these as "back in the day". I don't know if I'm going away or not, but Wally might be, and he thinks he might even quit the Team. Sometimes, he just doesn't feel like being a super hero because he says it makes him miss out on life; plus we've had too many close calls. He's afraid to die, and he's afraid to lose someone. When you put on a mask or a costume, you accept that you can get killed on the job, but I guess it's never real until you almost do get killed or until someone close to you almost does.

Wally plans to live it up in college, and find a major he loves so he can get an un-dangerous job where the risk of death and crippling injury isn't so high. He wants a wife and family and not to have to keep secrets. It's nothing I can get mad at him for. He wants to be normal, and if he thinks he can do that then more power to him.

"You should keep doing gymnastics in college. Go all out, go for Worlds, the Olympics, be on cereal boxes... without a mask on," Wally says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Robbie has more of a life than you do, and he's made up."

I roll my eyes at Wally, but it's more out of habit than annoyance. He's been going after me, trying to get me to consider hero retirement after high school, too. But Wally and I have totally different feelings about being a hero, for him, he feels kinda obligated because of his powers, for me, it's a calling. Some people get their kicks from volunteering to read to old people, I get my kicks from saving old people...and everyone else, because I want to keep as many people as I can from hurting like I did when I had to watch Mom and Dad fall to their deaths. If I can stop one little kid from having nightmares for the rest of his life, I'm good.

All of us bats can relate to that—and I ache inside, a hollow pain that gnaws at my already sore stomach. I can't let Bruce take Falcon from Jason, but I don't know how to change his mind. Alfred can help; he always can, but when Bruce really puts his size 12 down, it's down.

"Hey man, you're not looking so good. You okay?" Wally rocks my chair, leaning forward so that his face is inches from mine. "You're not in pain, are you? Does your back hurt?"

Mama Wally talks even faster when he's worried, and for such a cool guy, Wally's a real worrier. He's the only person on the Team who knows I'm sick, so he feels uber responsible for me. Plus, I scared the guy as much as I scared Bruce, Jason and Alfie when I almost died last year—and hey, that had absolutely nothing to do with hero work. Normal life can kill you, too.

"The royal kidneys are fine, Wall. Just worrying about home," I say. "I should go."

"...but this weekend, you're coming to hang with me, right?" he asks and I give him a light fist bump.

"Rain check on that?" I'm digging around for that Crest smile, but I can't find it. I'm standing up, ready to head into Ground Zero of Armageddon. I don't know when or IF I'll be back. Okay, yeah, so I'm being dramatic, but... I swallow hard, keeping my heart in its place and rub my stomach... home is not going to be a nice place for a very long time, and to keep everything from completely blowing up, I'm gonna have to stick close to it.

And stay between Bruce, Jason... and the weapons.

"You need a break man," Wally says, eyes gleaming with concern. "You're gonna make yourself sick."

I shrug. "Then I'll get a hot nurse to give me sponge baths. Wonder if Artemis will..." I know I don't have a chance in hell at getting away from Wally, but I make the effort anyway. One minute I'm running, cackling, the next he has me in a headlock.

"Did I say Artemis...?" I choke through giggles... and strain... God, he's actually strangling me.

"Yes, you did," Wally says, voice almost as gruff as Batman's.

"Sorry, meant to say Aqualad. Those 'A' names are tricky..."

He lets me go and shoves me back, shaking his head and growling at me. "I got an 'A' name for ya, Asshole."

I chuckle and stoop to gather my things: backpack... wrist comp... Pietro search... sunglasses... cell phone... and water bottle. I take the bottle of water Wally's dangling in front of my face, and stand with all of my stuff to smirk at him. "Thanks, man."

"Take care of yourself," Wally says. "I mean it."

I nod. He throws himself into the black leather chair behind him and starts spinning, fast. "I'll see you at Regionals. I'll be the guy with the sign with your picture and Number 1 on it, so you better not do one of those 'fall on your ass' routines."

I snort and give him a mock salute when he stops spinning. "I won't mess up."

I wave as I walk through the door, heading for the exit tubes that'll take me back to Gotham.

Time to face Alfie, Bruce and Jason.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

I get home before Alfred puts the bread on the table and take my seat next to Jason and across from Bruce. Tim sits beside Bruce, his nervous blue eyes flitting from me to Jason like we're going to come over the table as a unit and whomp him. It bothers me that he sees Jase and me as a united front against him; not that I ever go too far out of my way to take Tim's side on things. Maybe I should try to; Tim needs it, but Jason needs it, too. The tug-of-war tide of sour acid is starting up in my stomach again.

Dinner is a romaine salad, pot roast, green beans and mashed potatoes, but it all looks like mud and gravel to me and I know better than to try to eat it. I push meat and gravy around on my plate and glance over at Jason who's doing the same. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are dull, like someone who's all cried out and hollow. Does he know?

"After dinner, we're going to have a meeting in the Cave," Bruce says. "We need to talk about some things." His words are clipped, like he's biting down on each one. Dammit, Bruce, if you don't really want to axe Jason from the team, then don't.

I jump at the sound of Jason's fork clattering against his plate. My brother's staring at Bruce, there's no anger or hurt in his eyes, just loss and sadness. "We don't need a meeting in the Cave. We can talk about it right here. Go on, Bruce. Whattaya wanna tell me?"

I put my fork down, too, and watch Bruce and Jason. Tim has gone very still and he looks like he might run away.

"Jason, here is not..."

"Here is as good as anywhere to tell me I'm fired," Jason says, his voice void of everything. He's flat as a soda shaken up too much. "You want me to turn in my mask? The cape?"

"I'm doing this for you, Jason. No one here wants to see you hurt," Bruce says, keeping his voice even and not breaking gazes with Jason. Bruce looks honest and caring, but Jason... Jason just looks dead. Who knows if he's even hearing what Bruce is saying to him.

Jason nods. "Okay. Sure." He breaks eye contact with Bruce and looks at his plate.

"Are you all right, Jason?" Bruce asks. Jason's quiet reaction isn't sitting right with him. I know it's not sitting right with me. Something's wrong...

"Just tell me one thing, Bruce," Jason's reply is a hair above a whisper. I lean in to hear him, while Bruce sits back, arms folding over his chest. "You gonna resize my suit for that little bastard next to you to wear?"

The table goes silent, no one breathes.

"Jason, apologize to Tim..." Bruce starts but Jason's standing. He's sneering at Bruce, and God that expression's ugly. It's mean and jagged, ready to cut someone.

"I ain't apologizing to that. He came in here looking to push me out and you just let him. Well, newsflash for you, Brucie, he ain't worth shit on the streets. First bullet in the back you get is your fault."

"Jason." Bruce's voice is cold fire. "Apologize to Tim. Now!"

"Eat shit."

Bruce is on his feet, glowering at Jason and a rush of fear makes me take a deep breath. That's a Bat glare. He's pissed... he's really pissed. I get up, too. Sometimes, Bruce gets so mad he can put his fist through a wall. He doesn't hit us, he's never hit us, but... when you get that mad shit happens.

"What did you say?" Bruce demands.

"Eat shit and go to Hell!" Jason yells. "I hate you and that little fuck you brought in here! Take that half-trained twat out there, get him killed, and then think about the fucked up choice you just..."

Bruce is around the table and coming at Jason so fast I can't think. Jason has his fists ready and is dropping into a fighting stance.

"No!" I throw myself between them. Jason rounds on me, grabbing me before I can get a grip on him and flinging me out of his way. My sneakers don't get any traction across the wood floor I'm flying so fast, and I smash into a heavy, wood end table hard. The portraits on the wall the table's against rattle and I grip its edge, sucking in air and lowering myself to the ground. Explosions of pain rip through my abdomen into my flanks. Flashes of light dance in front of my eyes. Several sets of pounding footsteps come close and I feel people standing over me.

Jason's rough hands are on my shoulders. "Oh my God!" he's saying. "Are you okay? I'm sorry!"

"Move, Jason! Dick, where did you hit? Is it your..."

I don't know who's in front of me, but they're about to share the noodles I had for lunch. I gasp between heaves, God it hurts. Every heave is like being punched in the gut and then squeezed by a tight metal band around my lower back. Villains of the world, if you want to take Robin out you don't need machine guns or bombs or poison gas. You just need a few sturdy antiques and one well-aimed throw.

I don't know who's shouting now. They all kinda sound the same. They look the same, too, all bright and shiny. I blink a few times and realize everything is bright and shiny.

Well, damn. I think I'm gonna pass out.

The vice-grip around my back squeezes again, and I have never been so grateful for that rush of dizziness and sudden shift from light to dark that comes with losing consciousness.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

If someone is lying in bed with a heating pad on their stomach and a needle in their arm, would you scold them? I know I wouldn't, but I live in a place where no one's like me. So, I have to hear it from Dr. Leslie, Bruce and Alfred. It's like: Take a number and wait in line to see who can make Dick feel more like a dick!

My blood pressure is higher than it should be, I'm underweight, I'm malnourished, and my esophagus is irritated. The good thing is though my abdomen is slowly turning black and blue, nothing inside is damaged just rattled a bit. But when I smile about it, everyone glares at me, so I stay quiet and give the moon eyes to anyone who looks at me.

"You didn't tell me your nausea was this bad!" Bruce is on the warpath. "I know you've been throwing up some, but every day, Dick?"

I know better than to talk. I just lay here, misery radiating through every cell in my body. My stomach aches, my kidneys ache, my bladder feels full, and the IV is filled with painkillers and anti-nausea drugs that feel cold as they work their way through my veins. The only nice thing is the heating pad. I close my eyes and concentrate on its warmth and how soft the towel it's resting on feels against my sore skin.

"You're on bed rest until this weekend, Richard, and you had better stay in this bed if you even  _hope_  to go to that gymnastics competition," Dr. Leslie says. "You're going to be on your best behavior, young man, and you're going to follow a diet plan and you'll take naps."

Naps? Like a three year old? "When you say bed rest, does that just mean no leaving the house, no chores, that type of deal?"

Dr. Leslie glares at me and Alfred's moustache twitches. Bruce looks tall and terrible. You know, if I didn't know better I would think they're pulling mental straws for who's going to kill me first.

"You will stay in bed. You will only get up to pee and bathe. This IV will stay in your arm. You will not pull it out. I will return on Friday to reassess you. If you are better, you will stay in bed until Saturday morning, and then... we'll see."

Stay in bed until Saturday morning? It's Tuesday. "But it's Tuesd..." I stop talking because the adults look positively evil. "Ah... okay. Bed. Don't pull out IV. Got it."

I don't smile, because I don't think they'd like it. Dr. Leslie sighs and leans over me, stroking my hair. "What am I going to do with you?"

I close my eyes and the adult chatter becomes background noise as the drugs finally dull the pain and the soothing heat from the pad spreads to my fingers and toes. I don't want to think about Bruce looking like he was ready to hit Jason, or Jason ready to hit Bruce. But God, what if I hadn't gotten between them in time? Then what? Bruce might have swung at Jason, but he would have backed off immediately, horrified at what he'd done, but Jase? He might have kept on fighting.

Pain flares up in my stomach and left flank and I hiss. No, I'm not gonna think about it. I won't, because it didn't happen. I stopped it. I'll always stop it. The pain settles and I can stop holding my breath. Everything around me feels gray and soft. There are tiny whispers here and there, but I don't care what they're saying.

I hear the soft sound of my bedroom door closing, before I fall asleep.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

I don't know how much time has passed, but my head is fuzzy and there's no pain. A warm body is beside me; I can feel it through the blankets. I'm lying on my right side with a pillow between my knees. Don't remember doing that, but it's nice.

I roll onto my back, feeling the person next to me shift over to allow it. Without opening my eyes, I say, "Hi Jase."

"Hi." His voice is hoarse.

"It's creepy to have somebody watch you sleep, you know?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I... I didn't know it was you. I—I just knew somebody was getting in the way and I was so mad. I... I thought it was Tim. I wanted it to be Tim. But I didn't want to hurt him, just make him move, and I hurt you. Why did you do that?"

I blink and rub sleep from my eyes. My bro sounds tired and stressed out. "Did you really want to fight Bruce?"

He's quiet for a long time, then, "I... don't know. No. I just... I'm mad, Dick! I knew he was gonna do it since this morning. I freaked out about it all day, and then tonight... I just... I lost it."

"You're losing it a lot lately," I say. He's always been tough, but it's getting harder to cover for him. And now I'm starting to think that I shouldn't cover for him, because I don't think it's ever going to stop. Not like this, not by letting it go. "Is everything okay, Jase?"

He's quiet again.

"Please talk to me," I say. I attempt to sit up, but my abdominal muscles are pudding. I command, they wiggle and stay put.

He sighs. "Dick, I... I've been talking to people in the neighborhood, my old neighborhood."

"Right. The case," I say.

"No... no, not the case. I mean, it started off as the case. I was just asking around, keepin' an ear out, you know? And... and somebody told me somethin' about somebody. And I went after it and got told somethin'."

Damn. He's sitting with his knees to his chest and his head down. I can't see him like that, not while I'm lying down. I reach up and grab his shoulder and pull myself up with a series of grunts and groans. He jerks and turns to me, grabbing me under the shoulders and giving me a boost behind the back to help me sit up.

"You okay?" he demands. His voice is high, worried. "How bad did I hurt you?"

"You didn't," I gasp, hand on my bruised abs. The heating pad and towel slide into my lap. "It's all on me this time. I've been puking too much."

Jason snorts. "Yeah. We all knew that."

"More than I let on," I say. "So, I'm stuck in bed. Not your fault."

"Yeah, it's not my fault that I sent you flyin' into that table and you hit it with your stomach. What if you'd hit your back? I'm such a fuckin'..."

"It was an accident," I say. "I'm the dumbass here. I know better than to jump in the middle of a fist fight." But I'd do it again. "Now tell me what happened. What did you find out while you were out on the case?"

Jason's eyes look black in the darkness of my bedroom. The curtains are open and moonlight shines in through the window, casting weird shadows around the room. Jason is a blend of light and dark. "My mom..." he gives a chuckle that makes me shiver. "She wasn't my real mom. My scumbag dad just dumped me on her. My mom's somebody else, and she might not be worm food."

I want to be happy for him. Maybe he has a living parent after all. I feel happiness waiting to erupt through me, and I want to hug him and tell him how great it is. But... it's not right. "Jase, you can't trust..."

"I'm not fuckin' stupid. I know I can't just believe that. I cracked some medical files. Dickie, that lady wasn't my mom! Everything makes sense now. She never loved me. And it used ta make me sick, because if your ma can't love ya, who can, right? But... she's not my mother! But... now I gotta find out who is. And somebody in that shithole knows. It's my case, Dickie. Tim can't have it. You can't have it."

"Tell Bruce. He'll find out what you need to know." If he doesn't already know. Bruce, please, please don't let Jason—hell, don't let me—find out you've been keeping this from him. But the only way Bruce would keep a secret like that is if Jase's real mother is a bad person. If he thinks it's safer for Jase not to know, then...

"I don't wanna bring Bruce into this, not yet. I don't want him doing his Daddy Bat knows best routine and keepin' things hush-hush and keepin' me out of it. But... it's too late for that, huh? I fucked things up too far. And that twat Tim..."

"Jase, he only does what Bruce tells him to..."

"Like a dog. Why's he here, huh? His folks were rich. He's loaded and shit. I bet some rich family would take him. He shouldn't be in the Bat house. He don't deserve it! I don't care that he's some kiddy detective genius that figgered us all out. That doesn't make him worth shit to us."

I let him rant. Ranting about Tim is one of his outlets.

Jason's mom could be alive out there, but how did she lose Jason? I've read up on Jason's dad. He wasn't the type to take a kid from his mother if the mother wanted the kid. She had to have given Jason up. Geez, this mother could be worse than the one he lived with. I don't want that for Jase. He closed the door on that mom, and now a new door is opening up and who knows who'll come through.

I'm gonna need another round of painkillers and anti-nausea drugs soon.

"You okay?" Jason's tirade is over and he's looking at me. His face is pale and his eyes are black chasms. "I... I didn't tell you any of that, 'cuz... I don't... I'm always buggin' ya, and you've got shit to do. You got gymnastics and college apps, and JV Justice and school and doctor stuff."

"Little brothers are supposed to bug you," I say with a snort. I poke him in the forehead and smile when he smiles. "I'll help you look up stuff about your mom if you don't want to ask Bruce."

"Yeah?" He sounds hopeful.

"No prob," I say, and can't fight the yawn that nearly cracks my jaw. I nudge him with my elbow; then let myself flop down, head hitting my pillow at just the right angle. Oh, lying down is so much better. My abdominal muscles stop quivering and I roll back onto my side. The heating pad is lost between the sheets and I pat around until I find it and settle it and the towel back in place.

"You goin' to sleep again?" Jason asks.

"Mmhmm."

"Okay."

I shut my eyes, ready to find that warm gray place from earlier, but a nagging worry in my gut keeps me from getting there. I sigh. "Hey Jase?" Because he's still there. He never just leaves.

"Yeah?"

"If I don't find good stuff about your mom, promise not to freak out."

He laughs. "I never expect good things when it comes to me. Why would I freak?"

Geez, Jason. I swallow and feel pain and sorrow swirling around inside. I hate it that he thinks he doesn't deserve good things. He'll never think he's good enough for anything worth having, and I don't know how to fix him.

"Hey, Dickie-bird?" Jason asks.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry."

"Forget about it."

But he won't. I know he won't, because that's who he is. I hear my bedroom door close for the second time tonight, and I try to concentrate on the heating pad and not Jason. Jason makes me hurt. Bruce makes me hurt. I need something else to think about to get my mind off of Bats and Bat Shit.

Somewhere in my room my wrist computer beeps. I'd thrown my backpack in the corner by my desk. I listen to my tiny computer chime before it cuts off. One of my searches has found something.

And for my peace of mind, I hope it's something good.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Three days in bed means I do a lot of reading, a lot of hacking, and find a lot of nothing useful. Nothing on Jason's mom, nothing real on Pietro or Wanda—I'm starting to freak out that Pietro's really disappeared—and nothing on Erik Lehnsherr that tells me where I can find him. He's never associated with Bayville, so I can't link him there unless I want to go out on a limb, which I might. But he really may have lost track of Pietro after he went into foster care.

"Yo, Dick, come on man; you know you gotta be early for check-in! We aren't losing Regionals for being late! I will carry you there on my back!"

I snap back to real life. It's Saturday, three and a half hours before Regionals and Wally's standing in my bedroom doorway in ripped jeans and a sweatshirt with my friggin' face on it. He got a picture of me off his phone, blew it, and put it on a shirt. He thinks it's great... I don't.

I turn off my laptop and twirl in my desk chair to face him. "Yeah, yeah, just had to check on something."

"Dude, no hero work! Regionals now! Hey, where's your sweatshirt?" Wally blurs and things in my room fly around until he appears right in front of me holding...well, me, on a sweatshirt. "Team Grayson! Don't make me put it on you, man, 'cuz I will."

Wally's grinning. He's more excited about this than me. Dr. Leslie cleared me for competition last night, because I was a good boy. I don't think she'd be happy to know that I stared at a computer screen all week, but hey, I upheld my end of the deal. She never said no work; she just said don't get up.

I shrug the face-shirt on over my Gotham Academy uniform tunic and put my hands on my hips. The thing's too big, but I guess it's the thought that counts, right?

Wally cocks his head to the left, then the right. "You'll grow into it. Come on, Alfie's got the car running. I got your cereal bar in my pocket and your water's with Jay. Uh, who's got your gym bag?"

"I got it." My black Gotham Academy bag is on my bed. I take a step toward it, but Wally grabs it and has his arm around my shoulder, pushing me to the door.

"I got it! Let's go, go, go! We're gonna win this thing! Come on, Tiger!"

I laugh. Wally popped in this morning around 5:00 am and was waiting for me when I got out of the shower. He told me all about the Central High boys' senior prank going without hitch, and even brought me a frog as a souvenir. Alfred made him take it outside; he hates creatures in the house. Wally being here lifted the black cloud that's been over the manor all week, for me at least. Bruce and Jason are avoiding each other like the plague (it's a little embarrassing how predictable those two can be), and Bruce feels so bad about what happened to me, he's kinda been avoiding me, too. I only see him late at night before he goes out on patrol with Tim. He sneaks in (and he's gotta know I'm only pretending to be asleep) and does attentive daddy stuff like check my temperature and fix my blankets. It's sweet, and I don't have the heart to ruin it by opening my eyes.

We get through the front doors where the Lexus SUV waits. Alfred is in the driver's seat with Tim sitting next to him. Jason's in back, and Bruce... is at work (convenient). But it's fine; he didn't want to come anyway. He thinks Dr. Leslie should have declared me unfit for competition so I won't showboat and give Robin away. (Oh, yeah, I'm rolling my eyes.)

Wally and I climb in back with Jason. I make sure to sit in the middle, because Jason + Wally = Cat Fight. The claws come out, and I already took a hit for the team. I'm not volunteering again.

"Master Wallace, please give Master Dick his cereal bar," Alfred says as soon as the doors are closed and we're all buckled in.

"You have been barred, man." Wally slaps the Cheerio's cereal and milk bar in my hand and I thank him, and wink at Alfie who tuts.

He's not happy about the cereal bar, but even without puke-inducing meds, meals before gymnastics is just asking for puke. So Alfie has to settle for a protein shake, which I had an hour ago, and freeze-dried sugar (a Cheerios bar in all its glory).

"Bruce would be here if I wasn't. You sure you want me?" Jason looks out the window instead of at me.

It hurts that Jason is probably right. No, Bruce doesn't agree; no, Bruce doesn't want to go, but yes, Bruce does support me when he can. He really doesn't have to work this morning; he chose to, to get out of interacting with Jason. My poor brother has walked around feeling like an unwanted screw-up all week. And Tim... I've hardly seen Tim this week, not since that dinner. He never came to check on me. But why should he? Jason told Tim he hated him, and though I never said "ditto" I didn't step in and say I didn't feel the same. Okay, to be fair I didn't really get the chance to. Keeping Bruce and Jason from trying to kill each other was top priority then, and after that, well... I was a little preoccupied.

"Of course I want you with me. Team Grayson needs a mascot. Monkey Paw is my inspiration." And I wish Wally had made a sweatshirt with a shot of Jason's feet on it. They're like something out of the  _Planet of the Apes_ , the old movies with the cheesy-looking monkeys. His feet have long, freaky toes that can hold chopsticks, and they're big and wide. Dr. Leslie says she can tell Jase is gonna be big and tall, like Bruce, just by looking at his raptor feet.

Jason rolls his eyes at me, but I see him smiling.

"Team Grayson!" Wally barks. "Number 1!"

I munch my cereal bar, half-listening to Wally's pep talk. I'm not too worried about the competition. I didn't practice this week, but I've got the routines down and I'll do them clean. Now, if I see somebody throwing in some tricks that might push me off the medal podium, I'll adjust and put an extra rotation or two into the aerials. I can handle it. I got no pain today.

My wrist comp buzzes in my duffle bag, and Wally stops talking to glare at me. "Dude, you brought your computer? Oh no!" He snatches my bag from under my feet and roots through it for my wrist comp. He finds it and stuffs it in his sweatshirt pocket. "You get this back after you bring me some gold! No distractions!" After a second thought, he confiscates my phone, too.

I crunch my Cheerios and nod. "Yes, coach."

The car begins to move and Alfie puts the radio on my favorite rock station. The guy loves me, because more than he hates wrinkled slacks and dust bunnies he hates rock.

Wally cackles beside me and I look over to see him watching a video on my phone. "Whatcha' looking at?"

"Ha—dude, is this you? And who's that with you?" Wally shifts the phone so that I can see what he's looking at, and a smile spreads across my face at seeing me and my cousin in green wigs and disco boots dancing on a stage with flickering strobe lights.

Jason leans into my lap to look, and he snorts. "The boots work, make you look taller. But yeah, who's that guy with ya?"

I shrug and take my phone back. "Old friend." Wherever you are, I hope you're okay.

"You have friends I don't know?" Wally exclaims. "I'm jealous! Is he gonna be at Regionals? I'm not giving him a sweatshirt! No good friend-stealer—Ooh! This is my song! Turn it up, Alf!" Wally starts singing.

"Shut up West!" Jason hollers.

And I put my phone away, "old friend" forgotten in favor of keeping Jason from gagging Wally with one of his socks.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Winning gold was not as easy as I thought it would be. The guys from Washington DC were good, and I had to pull a few tricks out of the bag on floor, high bar and parallel bars to beat them in the All-Around. I took individual gold medals on floor, high bar and parallel, too. My rings and pommel horse weren't good enough to get me on the podium, but the scores were solid enough to give me good All-Around standing.

As soon as I stepped off the podium for good with all my medals around my neck, reporters were in my face shouting questions. I don't remember what all I said. I know I said a few things about how hard I trained for the events, and how the competition was so tough I didn't know if I would win, blah, blah. I made sure to smile and get the deer in headlights look a few times; the press loves that.

I make my way to the fan stands where Jason, Alfred and Tim are. Jason is all smiles, which is more satisfying than winning. My bro is never all smiles.

"Dude, you were almost as good as Robin!" Jason crows. He pumps my hand and slaps my back. In my ear, he says, "Bruce would have freaked out watching your high bar stunts."

"I did them just for him." I grin. And I wanted to win, dammit. "Where's Wally?"

Jason groans. "Giving away your face-shirts by the concession stands."

Giving away... "How many of those damn things did he make?" Okay, it's one thing for me to have to wear the stupid thing, but now he's giving them to strangers? Hell no! I pat Jason's shoulder, give Alfie a hug and offer Tim a smile, because the kid looks like he might bolt if I touch him, and take off up the stairs between the stands.

Must...stop... utter... humiliation. Kill... Wally.

I crash through the double doors into the concession area and a woman in glasses plants herself right in front of me. I stop short, nose touching her blouse, and I blink up at her. This beautiful woman smells like floral perfume and old blood. She smiles at me, her teeth white and even.

"Richard Grayson. It's an honor." Her voice is deep and sophisticated. She's wearing a business suit and a press pass for a New Jersey newspaper. Holding out a hand for me to shake, she nods her head for me to follow her.

I don't take her hand and I'm not following her anywhere. "Likewise, Miss White." I read it right off her name tag. "I'm done giving interviews, though. Sorry."

I'm not lying. I already talked to the press. I'm done for today. Saying you're not talking anymore doesn't stop the press from trying to talk to you, but you can't give one reporter an extra interview without giving one to all of them, so you have to cut it off for yourself.

"Then I'm in luck, because I'm not here for an interview, Mr. Grayson. I'm here to give you some advice," Miss White says, the light from the halogen lights above put a glare on her glasses and her red lips curve, looking cruel.

A Dick Grayson-hater? Really? Hope Wally didn't try to give her a face shirt, she'd draw horns and a moustache on it. Or better yet, she'd get artistic and make me look like a Dick, literally. People can be so creative. I swear no one's ever done that before, because I don't have a little brother.

"Tell me where your little shit friend Maximoff is and I won't kill you." Her voice is low, and she leans close so I can hear her, while keeping the smile on her face.

My heart twists around my windpipe and my voice comes out higher than I want it to. "Who the hell are you lady?"

"Mindy White." The woman laughs. "For now." I follow her gaze to her hands. Her short, squared nails are lengthening into claws. "I can be scarier, if you want me to be."

Lady, nothing much scares me anymore—but showing her that might not get me any information. "Whoa! How did—you're a..." Her hand, which is normal again, clamps over my mouth and I fight the urge to bite it.

"Where is Maximoff?"

"I... I don't know who you're talking ab..."

"Don't play stupid." She removes her hand and laughs like I told her a joke. She pats my shoulder like an aunt and winks at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a few people who'd been slowing to watch us with wary expressions now shrugging and moving on. Well played Weird Lady, but I think I'll get the Academy Award today.

"I saw you and Maximoff all cozy and I saw that chicken shit tell you something before he ran again."

"I...I..." I make my eyes water. "He just told me that someone was after him. I can't remember the name. It sounded like... geez... it sounded like..."

"Magneto?" Weird Lady presses.

Magneto? My brain flips back to all the mutant news in New York lately. Magneto—the guy with the funky helmet and purple cape who'd raised hell in NYC a few weeks ago. I was in Mount Justice watching that chaos with SB and Miss Martian. The guy stood on the roof of a skyscraper watching while his henchmen wrecked things on the ground. The League almost went out there to stop it, but the government beat them to it. They sent out those giant red robots designed to "keep the peace" between mutants and humans. (I always find it funny when peacemakers are equipped with lasers and explosives) Those Sentinel things caused as much damage as Magneto and his posse.

A news-chopper caught most of the attack, but the part I remember best is when one of the Sentinels fell right on top of Magneto and exploded. I thought he was toast, but he's obviously not.

"Yeah, yeah, Magneto, that's who he said," I stammer. "He was really scared. He asked me for money." I make myself shiver and I glance around nervously like Pietro had done.

"Sniveling little bastard." Weird Lady sneers in disgust and shoves me away from her. "I know he'll try to make contact with you again."

Oh really?—"How do you know...?"

"It's my business to know everything about the people who work for me."

"He works for you?" I ask.

"No, as it turns out, he doesn't." She smiles warmly at me. "I'm watching you, and when he contacts you again, you'll tell me."

"Why?" I ask. "Look, you have to know who I am, and you know who my dad is! I'll call the police and you'll go down big time for messin' with me."

Weird Lady laughs and steps back like she's bidding me farewell. "I'm not afraid of the police or Bruce Wayne. But you..." –her face shifts from Mindy to someone else completely. She's no longer pretty, but plain with unmemorable features. "...should be afraid of me, because you'll never see me coming."

I stare after the shapeshifter as she blends into the crowd of people around the concessions stands.

So, Pietro's running from Magneto AND Weird Lady. He may have worked for Weird Lady and has most definitely pissed her off, so I know why he's running from her. But why is he running from Magneto? And why would Pietro work for Weird Lady? It could have something to do with his criminal record, maybe he was stealing for W.L. and then he got caught and shipped off to Bayville. But since W.L.'s a mutant—or a meta, though I'm willing to bet the Kents' farm on mutant—there's a better chance that he mether in Bayville.

I really don't want to pay a visit to Bayville, but there's a special school that recruits mutant students there, and I should see what information I can get from them about Pietro. It's too big of a coincidence for him to suddenly be sent off to a place where there just happens to be a school for mutants. I just don't want to seem like the ass who assumes that all mutants must know each other because they're mutants so they must be friends. But Bayville isn't that big and only the stupid would deny a connection. In fact, the only thing really holding me back from doing a campus visit is that I tapped into the basic student files on all of the minors residing in the Xavier school or who are affiliated with the school two days ago. Pietro's files aren't in there.

"Hey Champ!" Wally comes out of nowhere and fist-bumps me. "We did it! Four golds! And dude, I totally ran out of face-shirts and I have to make some more! I got addresses in my phone to do mail-out orders. Your face is a hit!"

Mission Stop Utter Humiliation: Failed.

"What's with the look? How can you look so gloomy when you just won? You want a hot dog? I'll get you a hot dog. Or what about some ice cream? Come on, kid, smile!"

I do, but it doesn't make Wally happy.

"What's wrong?" he asks, frowning. He leads me through the people standing around talking and munching popcorn. A few of those people wave at me and shout congratulations. I wave back, but don't fall out of step with Wally.

We end up outside, standing on the steps that lead up into the Gotham University gymnasium, and I look for Weird Lady... or just people in general, because Weird Lady can look like anyone.

"What's up?" Wally pokes my shoulder and I don't know what to say to him.

The cold November air eats through my Gotham Academy windbreaker and uniform tunic and I shiver. "Just family stuff, Wall." It's always family stuff.

"Yeah... really?" Wally arches a brow dubiously. "Any of that family stuff have something to do with your little computer going crazy in my pocket through most of the meet?"

Electricity shoots through me as every neuron in my body fires simultaneously. "Give it to me!"

"Ah-ah..." Wally dances just out of my reach. He pulls my wrist comp from the large pocket of the face-sweatshirt he's still wearing. "Only if I get to see, too."

I groan. "Wally, it's personal!"

"Personal and unavailable to you, unless..."

Dammit all. "Fine!" He lets me snatch my computer away from him and I enter the code to turn it on. Snapping it onto my wrist, Wally follows me as I walk down the stairs to the sidewalk and start toward a bench under a few trees in the center of campus. Once we're away prying eyes, I let the screen fully open and project images.

There are so many hits my eyes swim. Mutant apprehended at truck stop. Mutant gift- wrapped for pick-up. Mutant identified as...

Pietro Maximoff. There's a school picture of him that had to have been taken when he was in middle school.

The authorities are transferring him to one of those mutant holding facilities.

I search to find his offense. There was a disturbance at the truck stop diner, but all of the witnesses confirm that Pietro was the one attacked by a female mutant in red. He was trying to run away from her when she used her powers to fling him into a wooden pantry. Then that pantry flung itself into a walk-in freezer. The freezer then bolted itself closed, and dragged itself across the floor into the street where it smashed into an oncoming police car.

Geez.

And, of course, the girl mutant in red got away.

My heart's around my windpipe again. Dammit, Pietro. What the hell am I supposed to do to help you? You're in lock-up and, at this point, I don't know if you deserve it or not. For W.L. to even think Pietro had worked for her meant he had to be into some bad stuff, and he'd been on parole... a parole that magically disappeared... legal documents all seem to disappear or be ignored or falsified in his case. It doesn't look good. I... I shouldn't help him if he's breaking the law. I can't help a criminal, but...

...I also can't leave him.

A dull, gnawing pain warms up in my stomach, ready for a show. Great, I think drug companies should make Tums especially designed for people with crazy families. I'd stock up.

I rub my middle absently, my mind doing more gymnastics than I did an hour ago. I don't know what they do to people in those mutant places, but I bet it's not kosher. And whether Tro deserves lock-up or not, he doesn't deserve to be treated badly because he has a power. And... he's family.

Bruce's gonna kill me.

"Are you okay, man? You're really pale again. Do you know this Pietro Maximoff?"

I shut down my wrist comp and look at Wally. My best friend is blowing into his hands and staring at me expectantly. His green eyes are bright with concern and curiosity. The name Pietro Maximoff means nothing to him. How can it?

"He someone you're casing, too?"

"No." I pause. "He's my cousin, and... I think I need your help."  
  



	8. Chapter 8

"You have a cousin? Since when? Dude, you been holding out!"

Wally follows me as I head back to the gymnasium. Throngs of people are leaving the building, some in team jackets, some in street clothes, some wearing press passes. Any one of them could be "Mindy White".

"Yeah, I have a cousin. From the Balkans. I hadn't seen him in years until he showed up a few days ago."

"When you skipped school," Wally says, walking beside me. "Is he in trouble?"

I nod. "He was running scared when he came to me. I don't know what's going on, but I think he needs somebody."

"Yeah and you're great at trying to be somebody for everybody." Wally shakes his head, but gives me a half-smile and ruffles my hair. "You're a glutton for punishment, Dickie."

I know. "Will you help me?"

"You know I will," Wally says. "Can't say no to those big eyes of yours. They make me feel all guilty and stuff. I'll follow your lead, D-bird."

I throw an arm around Wally's shoulders and give him a one-armed hug, before going back down into the stands to find Alfred, Jason and Tim.

Pretty much everyone's clearing out, but my brothers and Alfie are still in their seats waiting for me to come back dragging Wally by his ankles. I paste my Crest Kid smile on as people pass me and say things like, "Great job, Richard!"—"You were amazing!"—"Good luck at Nationals!"

Wally's smiling too, but his grin isn't pasted on. He means it. He's glowing for me and shaking hands. "He's gonna win all right," he says. "Team Grayson is number 1!"

I roll my eyes at him and make my way to my family. Tim notices me first, then Jason and Alfred. "Hey guys!"

"Ah, Master Richard, and you've found Master Wallace. I don't see any of those... delightful sweatshirts. You must have had some luck, Master Wallace." Alfred is rising from his seat. He's in a suit with a regular straight tie today. Jason and Tim stand up, too.

Wally stands behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Alfred, I couldn't pass those shirts out fast enough. They're hot. I need to get more made."

Jason sneers and Alfred tuts. "Well, what do you all say we celebrate Master Dick's victory? Pizza and then some ice cream?"

Alfred offering to take us out for pizza is insane. He turns his nose up at fast food and he hates pizza joints. He holds his handkerchief over his nose and tries not to touch anything the entire time.

"Actually, Alfie, Wally and I are gonna meet some friends and go out," I say, looking sheepish. "Uh... rain check on the family party for when Bruce can join us?"

Alfred raises a brow. He never truly buys any of my acts, but he's always nice enough to play along when he can tell I really want something. "Ah... well, then, understandable. Teenagers certainly don't want an old man hanging around them while they socialize."

I want to correct him. He's not old, and I'll never not want him around—but today, I need him gone.

"I'll leave you boys to your devices. I assume you will be using public transport or obtaining a ride from someone?" Alfred studies me and I nod.

"Very well," he says. "I'm sure that you and Masters Wallace, Jason and Timothy shall have a wonderful time. I shall tell Master Bruce not to wait any plans for you."

You and who? Wait! I didn't say anything about Jason and Tim the Tattletale coming with us. "Al..."

"It will be a wonderful bonding experience for you all. How often do you go out together? Just think, by this time next year, you two will be off at college and missing times like these." Alfie pats my head and winks.

I swear Alfred should be Batman. He's the best detective I've ever met. He knows I'm up to something and knows I won't do anything too crazy with Jason and Tim along for the ride.

"Yes, Alfred," I say. To refuse means utter defeat; this is a bargain.

Alfred beams at me. "Congratulations on your victory, Master Richard. I'll be leaving you young ones to your fun, then."

We all move out of the way and watch him leave without a word, but as soon as he disappears, Jason pounces. He folds his arms over his chest and stares both me and Wally down. "Whatever the hell it is you two are doing that's got Alfie siccing me and Troll on you better be damn interestin', 'cuz I wanted pizza."

"You can still get it, just take Timmy with you and don't go home for a few hours," I say. "I'm cashing in some favors from you right now." Jase can't help me; he's not Falcon anymore. But... he can get Tim out of here.

"I'm not going anywhere alone with him!" Tim protests and I nearly start in surprise. Tim hasn't spoken two words all day, and none of those words was ever loud enough to really be understood. I kinda forgot he can argue when he's really wants to.

"You're acting like I want you around!" Jason snapped. "You can..."

"Guys, I swear I will friggin' pay you to pretend to get along and stay away from the manor for a few hours. You don't even have to hang out together, just come back together." Now both Jason and Tim are staring at me, and I swear Wally's snickering behind me. (I really could punch the guy in the nose right now, but I can't be distracted from bribing the little  _bothers_.)

"Dude, what the hell are you running off to do and why can't you tell  _me_ about it?" Jason demands. "If you can tell West, you should have already told me!"

I groan and grip Jason's elbow. He's right. Normally, I would tell him; normally I'd ask him to come with me, but nothing about this is normal and I can't tell him why in front of Tim. "Please?" and I put everything I have into that 'please': a promise of 'later', an 'I'll owe you forever', a 'you're the greatest brother ever' and an 'I love you, love you, love you!'

Jason's face does an interesting dance. I don't think I've ever seen so many expressions flit across it. "Every fuckin' favor, Dickie-bird. I owe you nothin' after this," Jason hisses under his breath. "Fuckin' A." He turns to Tim, glaring daggers. "We're goin' for pizza."

Tim frowns and looks at me instead of Jason. "Does this mean I get a favor from you, too?"

"Why you little..."

I curb Jason before he can grab Tim's collar and push past him to stand directly in front of Tim. The space between the bench seats is tight, and one wrong move could send us tumbling down the bleachers, but I've got good balance (so long as Timmy doesn't push me).

"You're working a case Bruce won't like," Tim says. "Why?"

"Personal business, and I swear on everything holy to everything holy that if you snitch..."

"I'll stay with Jason today," Tim cuts me off. "I just won't talk to him and maybe he won't get so mad at me. It's no problem, if it's for you, but... I want you to owe me."

I tilt my head at him. "I don't get you, Timmy. You want to have something over me, but at the same time, you want to help because it's for me? You like me, but you don't?"

"I like you!" He says so fast it comes out louder than I think he wanted it to. He blushes worse than Porky Pig and clears his throat. "It's... Bruce is always saying he owes you one. You're always telling Jason, I owe you one, and he's always saying it to you. I... want someone to say it to me, too."

Jason snorts and is probably rolling his eyes, but me?

Well, if this little kid didn't just rip out my liver and stomp on it. Ignoring Jason's uttered curses and Wally's giggles, I clutch Tim's thin shoulders and give him the hug I thought he didn't want earlier. In his ear, I whisper, "Thanks, lil' bro. I owe you one."

I am going to do better by this kid if it kills me (which it probably will because Jason is gonna blow up). I pull away from him and want to hug him again at seeing the little smile that reaches his eyes and makes them glow a bit. Such a small thing does what six months in the same house couldn't do. I sigh and give Tim's shoulders another squeeze, and then I start climbing the bleacher seats, nodding for Wally to follow. Over my shoulder, I say, "Be nice to each other!"

Jason flicks me off, and Tim smiles at me, then casts a wary glance at Jason who's flicking him off now, too. I worry about them out alone together. Jason is pissed at Tim; Tim is afraid of Jason. Not a good combination, but they both... a flurry of warmth tingles in my chest... want to help me. That's what family does: help.

Once Wally and I hit the pavement, we catch a street car that will get us closest to the Gotham tube to Mount Justice.

"What do you plan to do, Dick? I mean, the reports say the guy's being detained by the police. We can't just bust him out," Wally says as the street car whizzes over the track. Flashes of buildings and trees and people pass us by and I stare at them.

"I don't know, Wall. I'm planning this one as we go."

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

By the seat of my pants is kinda my specialty. I'm just so used to making a plan, having weird shit happen, and having to make a whole new plan on the spot. (It comes from fighting crazies in Gotham. That Joker just never does what you want him to.)

So, of course, I have a sort of plan in mind when Wally and I tube into Mount Justice, and I get Exhibit A.

"Dude, this place is a ghost town on Saturday. Everyone's out doing something fun. We have the place to our—whoa!" Wally stops before he runs into Connor, who's standing in the doorway of the computer room with his arms folded over his chest.

I stop beside Wally. Connor is supposed to be skiing with M'gann and a bunch of their college buddies this weekend, but he's here... ruining my sort of plan. The less people who know Wally and I are here and using the computer the better, and the less people who see us leaving in costume after using the computer the better.

"What are you two doing?" Connor asks bluntly. His blue eyes are suspicious... and bored.

"Looking up some stuff." I shrug and shoulder past Connor into the computer room. Being nonchalant might make him lose interest. Might... hope...

"Like what?" Connor asks.

Fail.

"Police records," Wally says. "Just something for a Bat-case."

"Why not go to the Bat Cave?"

"Batman is mad at me," I say. I stand in front of the computer and enter my access code. I bring up random information about nothing I care about, but I stare at the screen as if fascinated.

"Totally pissed at him," Wally amends. He's still standing outside of the room, talking to Connor. Maybe he'll lead him away.

"About what?"

Connor's heavy footsteps come toward me and I keep the groan on the inside. He must be  _really_  bored. "Something stupid. Hey, where's M'gann? Aren't you guys supposed to be on a trip?"

"M'gann's mad at me," Connor says, voice flat and giving away nothing.

"Dude, what did you do this time?" Wally asks.

"Nothing! She asked me if I minded about that this guy going on the trip with us thinks she's hot, and I said no. I mean, she gets all mad when I act jealous, so... I thought it was what she wanted to hear."

Wally's cracking up, and I'm fighting a grin. Geez. Connor's so clueless. Yeah, okay, so technically he's only like two years old, but mentally he's nineteen... though, physically, his body isn't a day over sixteen. Superman's clone probably isn't gonna age much, who knows. I just know that he's still bigger than me.

"Dude, she doesn't want you to go all macho and start yelling at people for liking on her, but she wants you to be jealous," Wally says. "It makes girls feel all special."

"Well, why couldn't she just say that?" Connor sounds so frustrated I want to pat his back and offer to take him out for ice cream and pizza.

"Because she's a girl. They never come out and say anything. We have to... read their minds," Wally says, laughing harder. "So... no ski weekend for you."

"I could have still gone, but it'd just feel weird 'cuz she'd probably glare at me and having those other girls glaring at me, too, the whole time," Connor says. He's behind me now, and I hear Wally coming closer as well. "Artemis is with them. Why didn't she invite you to go, Wally?"

Wally chuckles softly. "Eh, I had other things to do." Meaning his senior prank and cheering me on at Regionals. I feel kinda bad about it. He really didn't have to come to Regionals if he wanted to be out with Artemis. I don't mind him blowing me off for dates; it's not like he does it all the time, or like I haven't done it.

"Yeah, like look up police records?" Connor nudges me and plants himself right next to me. "What are you two really up to? You wouldn't come in here on a Saturday to do  _this_. I'm not stupid, but I am bored, and I want in. Is it a mission?"

I keep my face forward, deciding what expression I want to wear. I go for busted. "Well... it's a mission, but not an official mission. Batman didn't issue it and Wally and me don't want anyone getting in trouble with us if we get caught."

Hey—it's not a lie, but it's not exactly telling him what we're doing either.

"Uh-huh," Connor raises both brows and studies both me and Wally. "Well, seeing as you two are still in grade school and I'm not, I think you'd get in less trouble if there's an adult with you. So, what are you up to?"

I narrow my eyes. Since when did Connor learn to be conniving? I mean, yeah, one of his sperm donors is Lex Luthor, but that's never come out in him before. Next he'll be bribing and blackmailing us.

Wally shoots me a look that says: Come on, Dickie-bird, we might need him.

And I groan out loud this time. I hate that I had to ask Wally to help me, and now he wants me to get Connor involved, too. I don't know what's actually going to happen tonight, but I do have the intention of breaking my cousin out of custody. That's a crime. If we get caught, we'll probably be off the Team. Wally doesn't care because he's thinking about quitting the Team anyway, but Connor?

I run my hands through my hair and breathe. God, my stomach hurts. It's like being punched from the inside. "Connor, you don't want in on this, okay. Trust me."

Connor's blue eyes darken and he frowns, jaw set. He looks exactly like Superman when he pulls that worried face. "You don't look good, Robin. Tell me what's going on with you."

It makes me smile knowing that Superman Jr. cares about me as much as Superman Sr. "It's nothing. Just..."

Hand moving faster than I can see, Connor takes my wrist. "You guys aren't going anywhere without me." That phrase should irritate me, it's something Bruce would say, but it doesn't. Connor is a passionate guy and when he's really worried about somebody he gets protective.

He squeezes my wrist once before letting go, but those eyes stay on me. "Everybody's talking about it. Something's wrong with you. You're not acting right. You're always disappearing. Your head's not in the game. You're losing weight, and now you're running off on secret missions Batman didn't give you... and you can't get information on it in the Bat Cave, meaning Batman doesn't know what you're doing and would probably stop you if he did."

Connor Kent. Lots of people write him off as a rock-head, but the guy's really smart and he can be really observant.

"Let me help," he says.

I smell Wally's funky aftershave before I feel his elbow in my side. He whispers in my ear. "Come on, D-bird. Connor can keep a secret better than anybody and I'd feel better about this with back-up."

I take a long look at Wally to find him not smiling. He's dead serious and I can't ignore him when he's like this. I sigh. "Connor, you can get in a lot of trouble. Are you sure?"

"You're my friends and I'm not letting you do something dangerous without me," Connor says like he's agreeing to go to the 5:15 showing of a movie instead of the 5:30. "So, what are we doing?"

"Following a military van transferring a could be dangerous criminal to a high security lockdown facility," I say, rubbing my stomach with one hand and accessing the computer system of the police station Pietro's being held in with the other. Mount Justice's computer system is about two seconds slower than Bruce's. (If I don't get tossed out on my ass after this, I'm gonna overclock this thing.)

"Why? You think someone's going to attack the transport and free the prisoner?" Connor asks.

"No,  _we_ 're not going to attack it, but we  _are_  going to free the prisoner... once they get him in the facility." I swallow back sour spit. It's the best way to get Pietro out. Once they get him in the building, it'll just be simple infiltration for us. I can't get the facility's blueprints, so it's gonna be a blind bust. Nothing I haven't done before, but I'm still nervous as hell.

And once Pietro's out of lockup, we'll have to bring him here for interrogation. I have to know if he's trouble or in trouble; then I can figure out what to do with him. I might even just... let him run, if it's all I can do.

"You want to break out a prisoner?" Connor's gaping at me. "What the hell? Why? Wrongfully accused?"

I shrug. "He disturbed the peace, probably violated parole, might be working for a terrorist group, might deserve to do time."

Wally sighs and sits in the rolling leather chair, not offering anything as Connor continues to gawk at me.

"Robin. Why?"

"He's an old friend."

"An old friend gone bad," Connor says. "You can't save everybody, man. Let that one go."

"I can't," I say through gritted teeth. My esophagus burns as stomach acid climbs into it. "Look, Con. I'm very sure he's a mutant and that place they're taking him to is one of those mutant camps. I don't want anything bad to happen to him because of what he is. If he turns out to really be a bad guy, I want him in regular juvie."

"The guy's a kid?" Connor asks.

"Yeah," I say. "He's fifteen, like me. We..." I close my eyes "... he's family. I can't leave him like that without knowing what's really going on. When I saw him last, he was running from something and some shady people are after him, other mutants, I think. He needs help and I don't think he's gonna get it unless I'm the one to give it."

Connor gapes at me again and Wally spins in the rolling chair.

"You get it now, SB? We get busted for this and Robbie's buddy does turn out to be a baddie, it'll be a criminal offense, for us."

I stare at Wally, my eyes stinging a bit at how calmly he says that. He's gotta be freaking out inside. Wally's no wild child and though he'll be working with me under the guise of Kid Flash, he doesn't want a super hero criminal record anymore than he wants a Wally West criminal record.

He's really just in this for me.

I grab the arms of the leather chair he's in and touch his shoulder. "You don't have to..."

"Shut up, Rob. Like SB said, I can't have your skinny ass running off into trouble without me there to pull you out." Wally flashes me a grin and reaches up to ruffle my hair. "It's okay, bro. I can handle what might come after this, but... I trust your gut even if you don't. If you don't feel right about this  _friend_  of yours going to that place, there's a reason you don't."

I can't even trust my gut to hold onto my breakfast, how can I trust it to be right about Pietro? But you know what?—I give Wally a nod anyway, and swallow with a grimace. I refuse to be sick.

"Okay, then." My voice is hoarse. "You still in Connor?"

Connor stares at the computer screen. The police station's site is up, and the database is open. A clock running in real time is ticking off the seconds until Pietro is moved. A new message appears; it must have been logged and saved recently.

_Prisoner highly agitated, pulse far beyond normal levels, pupils pinpoint, respiration rapid and shallow. Medical evaluation requested and required before transport. Sedation recommended._

Hang on, Tro.

My eyes are starting to water from the burning at the back of my throat and I taste chewed Cheerios. A tiny trash can is shoved in my face and I snatch it, clutching it in one hand while my stomach decides what it wants to do.

"Dude, you need to calm down. You're undoing the doc's work," Wally says. He rubs my back and guides me to sit in his rolling chair.

My stomach, throat and tongue are on fire and my eyes and nose run. I spit in the trash can and murmur, "I'll never eat Cheerios again. Yuck."

I pull my head out of the trash can, and I know I'm burning red. I hate being gross in front of an audience. A towel is shoved at me and I wipe my eyes and nose, then my mouth.

"You okay?" Wally asks. "Want water, gum?"

"I'm okay," I say after a few deep breaths push honey nut goodness back where it belongs.

"You sick?" Connor asks. "If you're..."

"I'm not sick just... dis-traught." I draw the last word out with a smirk; SB usually likes my wordplay, but not today.

He scowls. "Yeah? That why you're always disappearing and why you're losing weight? You know, you haven't been right since you were gone those few months last year." He stops and grabs my shoulders, almost pulling me up from the chair. Those blue beams of his burn into me. "You don't have a disease or something, do you?"

SB is kinda like Batman in how his "scared shitless" voice sounds more like an "I'm gonna knock you into next week" voice. He looks ready to throttle me, and I should be defensive, but I can't lie to a guy willing to commit a crime for me.

"Well... yeah, I kinda do," I choke out as he shakes me.

"What?" Connor demands. "Why didn't you tell us?!"

"Let him go, Connor, and chill!" Wally snaps. He's suddenly next to Connor, trying to pull him off me. Good luck with that one, Wally. SB can drop you like it's hot.

"Oh?" Connor releases me and I fall back into the chair. Connor whirls on Wally. "So, he told you.  Just like he told you his identity. Okay, I get it. You don't want us knowing what's wrong with you because we might take it and find out who you are. That's just great, Robin. What if you pass out somewhere and need special medicine and Kid's not around to help you? What the hell would you do?"

"It's not like that, Connor. It's not like diabetes or something. It's just... a kidney thing. I'm fine."

"You almost puked just now."

(Nothing new there, except for the "almost".) "I'm stressed out," I say (nothing new there either). "A lot's going on right now. You don't understand."

"I want to," Connor says. He shrugs after a minute. "But... hey, I know you got your secrets you gotta keep. The Bat doesn't want you telling us stuff, that's fine." He looks down at his feet as I fight down another wave of nausea. What, is today make Dick feel like shit day? First Tim, now Connor.

"Con, one day..."

"Yeah," he cuts me off. He's still looking at his feet. "I know." Slowly he raises his head, and I'm waiting to see the anger or the sadness there, but I get a surprise. He's not quite smiling, but he seems pleased. "So... you're letting me in on a mission you only told Wally about. We're getting closer to that 'one day', huh?"

All I can do is blink at him. I, Richard John Grayson, am speechless.

And Wally laughs. "So, Robbie, how are we gonna do this now that we got SB on our side?"

I shake off my stupor and sit up straight. I gaze at the time window for Pietro's departure. We've got about two hours. "Since Connor's here, we're gonna take Sphere and fly over the transport vehicles..."


	9. Chapter 9

What's cool about Sphere in air-mode is that it's like riding through the sky on a monster motorcycle with seats for four. What sucks about Sphere in air-mode is that riding a monster motorcycle through the sky when it's about 30 degrees outside is not fun. Wally and I have on our thermals and overcoats with hoods, but geez this wind on my face is driving me crazy; it's like being bitch-slapped with icicles.

Connor doesn't mind. He's sitting in the driver's seat, staring straight down at our target, not bothered by cold or wind. (Kryptonian genes kick ass.) A caravan of two green jeeps, a gray-green, armored box truck carrying Pietro, and a hummer, wind around a double lane mountain road. Guard rails fence drivers in from a pretty steep drop onto nothing but rock below. The holding facility is about 30 more miles away; I can see it through my binoculars. It looks like a regular prison site with tall iron gates and sentries at all of the entry points. Nothing sinister blips on my radar... and it makes me doubt myself, again.

The place could be fine. For all I know, it could be nicer than regular jail.

God, I don't want to be wrong.

I frown and intensify the focus on the binoculars. A beat-up old jeep with muddy wheels is parked on the side of the road a few miles from the approaching caravan, and a guy—no—three guys are sitting tight on a rocky ledge about 10 feet above the road.

One guy's in a pleather body-suit with a clear, plastic bowl over his head and his buddies are a skinny, little guy with jaundice, and a giant fat guy dressed like Farmer Joe's wayward son Billy Bob. (Eh, you can substitute those names for Jed and Will Earl, or Carl and Eddie Ray, either way, you get the fashion statement.)

"Ambush," Connor grunts. I glance over to see him looking in the direction of the guys, too.

"Set us down, Con," I say. Any guys in costume lying in wait for a military convoy can't be good news. I mean look at us: guys in costume lying in wait for a military convoy—and planning a prison break, and for all I know, those guys are, too.

"In front of the trucks?"

"Go for it."

Sphere jets forward then descends, aiming for a location directly in the path of the military convoy. I hope they have enough time to try to stop before smashing us the hell up. I can bail out with the best of them, but SB might kill somebody if Sphere's damaged and well... I don't have on my belt with the Kryptonite compartment. (I really should. Bruce gets on me about it. But dammit, I trust Connor and Superman.)

"Hope those jeeps don't have shit for brakes!" Wally's unstrapped himself and he's standing on his seat, ready to hit the ground running. I wish he wouldn't do that. Wally's a klutz and I don't want him to fall before he's ready to jump.

"Sit the hell down!" Connor barks and I grin and put away my binoculars as the ground rushes to greet us. Sphere lands with a soft thud and Wally leaps to the ground, followed by me and Connor. I notice that Connor makes sure he's in front and facing the oncoming jeeps, hands out and ready to stop them if their brakes are indeed shit.

The tires of the oncoming vehicles squeal as they try to stop... and that's when the ground starts quaking and the rocks start falling. An earthquake in Virginia?

I stumble but don't lose my balance as the rocky walls of the mountain come crashing down. Soldiers yell and dive out of their jeeps as boulders smash into the cars, barreling them through the guard rail and sending them sailing over the cliff. Explosions from the ground give the earthquake the extra "umph" it needs to knock Connor, Wally and me off our feet.

"What the hell?" Wally's yelling.

"Move!" I yell, rolling out of the way of more falling boulders. I see Connor on his feet and batting rocks away like baseballs. Wally's up and dragging soldiers out of the line of fire. I stagger to my feet and watch the three guys in costume step into the headlights of the box truck. The guy with the bowl on his head walks with a Jason Voorhees gait, eyes rolling back in his head like he's having a seizure, with his hands stretched out in front of him. When he relaxes his hands and his eyeballs roll back in place, the ground stops moving.

Are you friggin' serious? Bowl Head makes earthquakes with his hands. Nothing I do can ever be easy, can it?

Soldiers start barking orders and two-way radios crackle and whistle. I hear someone say, "More mutants!"

And someone else says "Hey, isn't that Super Boy over there with Robin... and Flash Junior?"

In my peripheral vision, I see Wally and Connor coming to flank me on either side as I stare down Bowl Head, Billy Bob and Jaundice Boy.

"Looky what we got here, a little bird, Flash's wannabe, and Superman's bastard. You really wanna take us on?" Bowl Head sneers. I size him up; he looks about 17 or 18, scruffy, and angry. That power of his is dangerous, but he's no super villain. He's a lackey, like Red Eyes, and he's probably after Pietro, too.

"And what do  _we_  got here?" Wally calls out. "We got a salad bowl, a fat boy and a frog. You only think you want some of this!"

The ground starts to quake again and Jaundice Boy launches himself—like a frog, legs kicking out like he's leaping lily pads—about 10 feet up and 10 feet over. I do a series of back-handsprings to get out of his way, which is hard to do when the ground's moving. My wrists strain and I resist the urge to rub them when I land. Wally blurs toward Bowl Head and Connor locks fists with Billy Bob.

The ground stops moving as Bowl Head falls over and Wally appears on top of him, pinning his hands to his sides.

"Oh yuck!" I cartwheel out of the way of the flying green gunk Jaundice Boy hocks up like a loogie. There's more where it comes from. He keeps spitting and I do a forward roll into a crouch and fling a few batarangs at him. The first one makes him choke on a loogie and stagger to one side, the second one catches him in the chest and down he goes.

Bullets start flying and combat boots are stamping up the ground. Lumbering steps toward me make me look up. Billy Bob is heading to the box truck with Connor on his tail.

Damn. I break for the prisoner transport vehicle as well. The ground erupts in fits again and I stumble to my knees, gritting my teeth as sharp rocks cut into my skin. I hear staggering and heavy thuds as Billy Bob, and probably Connor, too, hit the dirt.

"SB, help KF get Bowl Head down and out! I got Billy Bob!"

"Billy Bob?" Connor yells.

"Just get Bowl Head!"

The ground's still quaking and I feel like I'm surfing as I try to keep my balance. One wrong step, the board tips, and I'm in the water. Billy Bob's going much slower now, too, but I hear his thunder steps behind me and... Crap. I dive to one side as a green loogie splatters on the ground in front of me. Jaundice Boy is up.

I whip around in just enough time to spin out of the way as Jaundice Boy does another super jump and almost comes down on top of me. I give a sweeping kick to his legs as soon as his sneakers touch the ground and he yelps as he tumbles.

He's gotta be my age or younger. All of these guys, maybe even Billy Bob, are kids.

Kids after Pietro... or maybe friends come to get him. But if they are his friends and this is how they rescue him, then they aren't good guys and I have to stop them.

The ground stops moving and Billy Bob is up and charging toward me. Jaundice Boy rolls out of Billy Bob's way and I aim a fist at Billy Bob's solar plexus. It might not take him down but it'll.... Aaah! I don't cry out as my arm sinks into Billy Bob's stomach like punching through putty.

I try to snatch it back but it's stuck. My friggin' arm's stuck in this guy's stomach flab! I don't know if I should laugh, yell for help, or melt in shame. Billy Bob laughs and takes hold of my waist. He gives me a yank and my arm comes free, then he winds back and pitches me like a football.

I'm flying fast, over the hummer and toward a mountain wall. This is gonna hurt. I relax my muscles, preparing for collision... and suddenly a girl's in the way. I yell as I slam into her and we tumble to the ground, me on top of her. Where the hell did she come from? I scramble up, staring down at this crazy girl in gym sweats with a white streak through her auburn hair. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is pulled in a grimace.

"Dammit, Bird Boy, I thoughtcha's s'posta be graceful!" She talks like someone from the Deep South. Green eyes open to glare at me and I push off of her, sore from crashing into her. I stay on my knees scanning the terrain. The ground is still and Bowl Head's laid out on the ground; Wally's stands over him, scratching his head, and Connor is pushing a boulder away from three soldiers.

My eyes go to the box truck. The soldiers are firing at the transport vehicle as Billy Bob grabs hold of it. Idiots. "Stop shooting!" I scream. The walls of that thing might be bullet proof, but the glass sure isn't! They'll hit Pietro! Billy Bob starts pushing the box truck forward, grunting and straining and ignoring the bullets flying at his ass.

The girl's sitting up. "Hey..."

I don't know if I see it before anyone else does, but Billy Bob's pushing the truck too close to the guardrail and the ground's starting to give way. "Hold the truck! Hold the truck! Pull it back!"

I hear Pietro screaming from inside. "Blob!" His face is pressed against the glass in the back window, his expression a mask of terror.

I'm running, running like I'm strong enough to stop that truck from rolling. I watch Billy Bob lose his grip, scrambling to grab anything he can. He grabs the door handle and it rips off in his thick hands.

As the truck teeters on the edge of the cliff, the grounds shifts and crack. "Connor!" Where the hell is Connor? Stop the truck, Connor... stop the truck...

I want to close my eyes, but I can't...so I don't miss the appearance of a second girl. "I got him!" she shouts, and she jumps  _through_  the wall of the truck as it goes over the cliff... like a ghost, like M'gann and J'onn.

I skid to a stop as I reach the place where the ground is weak and pick my way over to the edge, standing by the broken guardrail. The box truck crashes and explodes, its parts joining the mangled mess of jeeps at the bottom of the cliff. I hear Billy Bob's thunder steps and then he's huffing and puffing beside me, also looking down.

My breath catches in my chest, my arms and legs feel weak, and the juices in my stomach begin to vibrate. God.

We stand there, me and Billy Bob, staring at the wreckage, looking for Pietro and that girl. Maybe they bailed out. The girl could walk through walls and she'd jumped in after Pietro like she was going to do something.

Maybe...

Please...

There's a cough from a few feet below.

I snap my head from the wreckage to see the girl balancing on a small ledge with an arm wrapped around Pietro's waist. My cousin is paler than ever and he seems dazed. There's a dark spot on his maroon shirt and blood dribbles down his neck. A patch of his white hair is red.

But thank God he isn't still in that truck.

My limbs still feel like Jell-O, and I still can't breathe, but...

Thank God.

I'm about to call to Pietro, when a flash of red and yellow appears next to me. I give Wally a desperate look and without a word he blurs down the side of the cliff. In the blink of an eye, Pietro and Wally are gone and the girl is alone.

"What the hell?" Billy Bob cocks his head and turns to stare at me like I'm gonna answer him. Looking at big Billy Bob with his pink face and blond mohawk, I place his age at about 18 and he doesn't look any more like a bad guy than I do. He looks like a guy gone fishing, staring at his snapped line in wonder.

"Blob, come on, yo!"

An engine guns and I look over my shoulder to see Jaundice Boy and Bowl Head in the jeep they'd parked ahead. Billy Bob forgets about me and lumbers toward the jeep. Really? He thinks he's getting by me?

I throw a bolo at Billy Bob's feet, but his legs are like tree trunks. The bolo only wraps around one, causing the giant to hop once, twice, but not lose his balance. Connor's kneeling down by a team of soldiers looking like he's doing first aid, and I...

"A little help here!" the girl calls from the ledge.

... can't leave this girl here.

The jeep peels off, leaving a cloud of dirt in its wake.

I see Connor getting to his feet, and rounds of ammunition are fired after the jeep.

"SB, let them go!" I yell.

They're just kids, lackeys.

Connor stops and stares at me, puzzled. "What? But they..."

"They're not what we came for!"

I turn my attention back to the cliff and get my grappling gun out. "Hey!" I call down to the girl. "I'm gonna drop you a line. Grab it and I'll pull you up."

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Connor and I end up giving Kitty and Rogue, our mystery girls, a ride home. Rogue saved a few soldiers while I wasn't looking and the boys in green gave both girls a salute and a promise that they aren't mutant haters. I bit my tongue when it came to asking about the mutant facility. Connor and I got away easy without the commander of that squad asking what we were doing out there in the first place. They were just glad we were around to help.

"So, like, what  _were_ you guys doing there? Were you like coming back from some awesome secret mission?" Kitty asks. She sits in back with Rogue. Her voice is as high and perky as her ponytail. I turn around in the front seat to face her and Rogue and find her leaning forward with her head resting on her arms. I blush a bit; she's pretty with light brown hair and blue eyes. She might be my age or maybe a little younger.

"Yeah, we were on our way back to base," I say. Hey, the story she came up with is as good as any I'd come up with. "Good thing, too."

Rogue snorts. "We woulda done just fine. Takin' care of Lance and those losers is easy."

"Lance, huh?" I ask. "You know those guys, then? Who are they?" And most importantly, who are they to Pietro?

"Bad news. They're in a group called the Brotherhood and all they do is cause trouble," Kitty says. Her pretty lips curve into a sneer. "I used to..." She trails off and gives a sad sigh. "Lance can be an okay guy sometimes. I wish he knew that."

I frown at her. She'd sounded wistful when she'd said Lance's name—an old boyfriend, maybe? I doubt a Forever 21 girl like her would go for Billy Bob (a.k.a. Blob) or Jaundice Boy (a.k.a. Just nasty), so Lance has to be Bowl Head. "Why were you out following those guys by yourselves?"

"Following a trail," Rogue grunts. "Avalanche, Blob and Toad are just a buncha flunkies; they foll'ah 'uh big boss and I thought they's gonna meet him tonight."

Toad? I can't smother this laugh. Jaundice Boy, codename Toad—appropriate.

"Well, you know they had to be trying to break Pietro out because Magneto wanted them to," Kitty says, and my heart skips a beat.

All thoughts of toads with jaundice vanish. "Magneto wanted to break Pietro out?" I ask, sitting on my knees so that I can turn all the around and stare at the girls who are looking at me in confusion.

"You know Pietro? Come ta thank 'bout it, you was mighty worried when you thought he was goin' over that cliff. Might even thank ya'll was friends." Rogue scowls at me and I scowl right back at her. No creepy-looking Goth girl in purple lipstick is gonna make me say what I don't want to.

"I didn't want anyone to die," I say smoothly.

"How d'ya know his name?" Rogue presses.

"Cause you told me what it was," I say and smile. She blinks at me, disarmed. Score another point for Crest Kid. "Now, tell me about Magneto wanting to free Pietro. Does Pietro work for him?"

Kitty gives a little laugh. "Well... yeah."

There's a rock in my stomach bigger than the boulders I just dodged. Pietro  _is_  in league with Magneto. Pietro works for a human-hating terrorist.

Pietro needs to be locked up after all.

Pietro needs me to... kick his ass.

"Do you know what kind of work he does for Magneto?" I ask. I feel Connor's heavy gaze on me, and I ignore it.

"Just breakin' into stuff and makin' trouble, I reckon," Rogue says, sounding off-hand. "He's kinda 'uh chicken shit. So, I don't see him doing nothin' too awful. He'd be too scared. Don't see what Magneto wants with him or any of those losers. Wanda's the only one Ah can understand him wantin' around."

"She's totally scary!" Kitty agrees.

I'm floored at Rogue using Wanda's name. Wanda... these girls know Wanda... and she works for a human-hating terrorist, too. And she's a mutant, like...

Dammit Pietro.

I face front, refusing to put my head in my hands as I try to think. My stomach's auditioning for the part of a shaken-up can of Coca Cola. Bubbles and fizz froth in my gut.

Okay, okay... so, Pietro's definitely with Magneto. But if Pietro's with Magneto, why is he running instead of just going to Magneto for protection, especially if Magneto is willing to send thugs out to help him escape lock-up? And why did he skirt around the topic of Wanda if she's fine and working with him?

I'm missing a piece of information that links all of this together, and I bet that piece of information is so simple I'm gonna beat my head into a wall when I finally get it. I'm quiet for the rest of the trip as Kitty moans about how much trouble she's gonna be in when she gets home and how it's all Rogue's fault.

It takes us about 30 minutes to bring the girls home, and I'm not surprised to be dropping them off in Bayville on the curb of the entrance to the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Connor barely waits for the girls to set their feet on the ground, before Sphere's in the air again. Kitty waves goodbye until I'm sure she can't see us anymore, but Rogue disappears inside after a brief nod of her head. Grumpy much?

I let out a sigh as Connor guides Sphere back to Mount Justice. I don't want to talk right now, but Connor's waiting. He's not gonna say anything, that's just his way, but I can feel his questions.

"I told you when you got into this that it wasn't a good idea," I say, hand over my eyes. "But I had to do it."

"Are you willing to let a terrorist run free?" Connor asks.

Keeping my hand over my eyes, I sigh. "No one said he's a terrorist." But he's working for one, and I want to give him a chance to explain, to tell me why.

Why are you working for someone who kills people for not seeing things his way, Tro? That's not the  _you_  I knew. What does this man have over you?

Connor is quiet again and I'm glad. I look down at the ground for the remainder of our ride, watching the world pass me by in a blur of shapes and colors that bleed into one another until everything is one big gray stain I can close my eyes on.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Mount Justice is still a ghost town when Con and I get back. The only other people there besides us are Wally and Pietro. Wally, still in his Kid Flash gear, comes into the main room to meet us. "That guy's out. He got knocked in the head pretty good, and one of his pupils is pinpoint, definite concussion. But he moans and groans when I poke him, so no coma. His pulse is off the charts though, man, and his skin's drying up. He's dehydrating fast, and you're the one who knows how to do IV's and stuff."

I nod at Wally. "Thanks for looking after him," I murmur. Wally starts walking in the direction of the infirmary and I follow. "Um...did you..." God, I can't ask.

"Restrain him? Yeah, I arm-and-leg cuffed him to the bed. He ain't getting up, unless he's an escape artist like you." Wally studies me a minute, and in a lower voice says, "He doesn't look anything like you, you know."

I shrug. "Do you look like all of your relatives?"

"No, and thank God for small favors," Wally says with a snort, then a frown. "You okay? You're looking kinda gray."

"I..."

"We confirmed that Cousin Pietro is a terrorist," Connor says and I nearly jump at the sound of his voice coming from right behind me. I whirl around to gape at him, slightly open-mouthed. Number 1) I can't believe he said that, and Number 2)  _Connor_  snuck up on  _me_  (???).

"No one said he's a terrorist! They just said he works for Magneto," I snap, shaking the shock off and letting irritation take its place.

"Dude, that magnet-guy is a pretty well-known mutant terrorist. Your cuzzie in there has to know that, and if he's working for Magneto then it means he either doesn't care, he supports Magneto's mission, or both." Wally gives me a sympathetic look and touches my shoulder. "I know you said you might let him run, but dude..." He shakes his head.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping, irritation evaporating. I know. Dammit, I know! I just—deep down, I wasn't expecting to hear it. I was expecting to find out this was all a big misunderstanding and that I was going to be clearing up some huge injustice done to my cousin.  I was supposed to rescue him... like I can't rescue Jason and Bruce.

"We still don't have to get in trouble for this. We can just hide him until he's better and then take him to a police station. Everyone on that mountain thinks he got away on his own," Wally says. "No one saw me do anything."

I nod, yeah. Liability free. Rubbing my stomach, I stop in front of the infirmary doors. My friends are walking on either side of me, but... I look at them, and they frown at me. "I need to talk to him alone. Can you guys just... stand watch?"

Connor grunts, but Wally gives me a half-smile. "Whatever you need to do, Rob. Just no jail breaks, okay?"

I cringe and Wally's half-smile turns into a full one. "I'm kiddin', BW. Go ahead. We'll make sure you don't get any surprise guests."

Wally West, an asshole by any other name would still be spelled W.A.L.L.Y., but I still love the guy.  I don't bother rolling my eyes, he can't see it behind my mask, but I do smack him in the back of the head with an open hand. "Jerk."

Wally and Connor back off and walk away, probably heading for the kitchen. I watch them a minute; then get out my cell phone to call Alfie and tell him I'm spending the night with Wally. Not a lie at all, but I know Alfie detects the scent of omission when he says: Be careful, lad.

I button my phone back into its compartment and pass through the infirmary doors. The open foyer has two emergency tables and equipment near the walls on either side of the room for people rushed in at death's door. Past the emergency stations, the area narrows into a hallway lined with doors. Behind the first two doors are examination rooms, the next few doors are patient rooms. I stop at the only closed door, knowing Pietro has to be behind it, and push it open.

In a small twin bed with metal rails, my cousin's curled on his side facing me. Shiny metal cuffs chain one wrist and one ankle to the side of the bed. My stomach flutters as I move closer. Pietro's skin is whiter than the sheets he lays on and he's so skinny it hurts to look at him. Did he eat at all after he left me?

I stop at the side of the bed, stretching out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Pietro?"

He twitches and his platinum lashes flutter.

"Pietro?"

One eyes opens, and it's practically all pupil as it focuses on me. The other eye opens as well, that pupil smaller. He begins to shiver, no not shiver, quiver, the motions are rapid, almost violent; the bed groans. His breathing speeds up.

"H—hey, it's all right. I'm not gonna hurt you," I say, my stomach doing its best to match him quiver for quiver.

"Don't... don't take me back. Don't-take-me-back. Don't-don't-don't... I'll-do-anything."

"Don't take you back to lock-up? Why not? You're a bad guy aren't you?" I demand. My voice does not reflect how I feel. I sound cold, mean, but I feel awful. He's so scared of me.

"Pleaseplease... justletmego. Won'thurtanybody. Disappear. I'lldisappear."

"Who are you running from? The police?" I press. I want to take his hand but I can't, because he'd wonder why.

I watch him clam up. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes. That's an "I'm not talking" face if I've ever seen one. "Tell me and maybe I can help you!"

Nothing.

"Trust me!"

A humorless laugh. " _I don't trust anybody_." Sinte. He's gonna start talking in only Sinte. Clever, but...

I stare at him. He's scared, he's alone—and the cousin I knew could never be alone—he's hurt, he's so skinny it's painful to look at, and... he's family.

" _You can trust me_ ," I whisper.

His eyes fly open and he stares at me, lips parting. I can't interpret his expression, its confusion, its suspicion, its terror, its resolution. " _You_..."

" _What's going on, cousin? Let me help you._ "

I don't think it's possible for his eyes to get any bigger or for his skin to get any whiter, but the impossible always seems to happen around me. His free hand reaches for me, and I lean forward, letting him touch my face. His fingers go for my mask. They fumble as he tries to pull it off. Spirit gum is tricky stuff. Super hero masks don't come off easy—it's in the warranty. I hold still, waiting... stomach clenching.

The mask comes free and falls onto the metal rail separating us.

"Dickie?" his voice is a choked whisper.

I nod, licking my lips and watching his face. His jaw trembles and he blinks faster than Wally, so it looks like he's not blinking at all. His breathing becomes audible pants and he rolls onto his back, breaking eye contact with me... as he begins to cry.

I don't say anything, don't touch him, don't move, as he sobs. He's not loud, but he's not quiet either. After a few minutes he claps his free hand over his eyes; then rubs it over his face, scrubbing hard. He clears his throat a few times, and removes his hand.

"Are you okay?" I ask, fighting the urge to tell him that everything's gonna be fine because I don't know that.

His eyes stay on the ceiling and his expression is blank. It's like the tears never happened, and that makes me sad. Sucking up tears and schooling expressions takes a lot of practice to get just right and for Pietro to be able to do it so quickly and completely tells me more than I want to know.

"When are you taking me back to jail?" he asks, his voice cold and flat.

Is this the front he shows police? It's good...

...but I got better.

"Should I take you back?" I counter. I don't look at him as I make my way to the supply cabinets against the wall farthest from the bed. I get out a bag of saline solution and bring it over to the IV equipment by the bed. "You're in my custody right now. You got a reason for me to release you into someone else's?"

He sucks in a breath. "I got plenty. Don't you already know that?"

I rub his thin arm, the one cuffed to the bed, looking for a good vein. It doesn't take long to get the needle in and tape it down. Pietro gives a slight hiss but says nothing. There's silence as I grab a plastic chair from the foot of the bed and drag it to the bedside. Straddling the chair and folding my arms over the back of it, I drawl, "I'll tell you what I know and you can fill in the rest." I'm amazed at how closed off his expression is. I really don't think he's going to tell me anything.

"I know you came to America with someone who forged paperwork to get you and Wanda citizenship. I know you found your real dad. I know you got put into foster care when you were 12. I know you were placed six different times. I know you vandalized property and stole, and resisted arrest. I know you lived with Raven Darkholme in Bayville and pretended to work for a very pissed off shapeshifter. I know you work for Magneto."

Pietro gives a little laugh, lips curving into a nasty smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He doesn't mean it. "Sounds like you got all you need."

I jump out of the chair and kick it to the side so hard it careens into the far wall. Climbing onto the bed until I'm straddling him, I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him up by it, until we're nose to nose. I smell blood and sweat on him. There's dried blood in his hair and his pupils are unbalanced. I feel his body trembling and listen to his unsteady breathing.

" _Stop it_ ," I hiss in Sinte, and shake him. " _Tell me what the hell is going on with you, so I can help you. Why are you working for Magneto? Why would you do something like that? Answer me_."

His eyes look anywhere but at me for as long as I let them. I shake him again, and fight to ignore the waxy hue his skin is turning. His lips part and he stutters, "I... he..."

"Come on, Tro." I let him go, helping him lie back on the bed. I crawl off him, but keep myself planted on beside him. "You can trust me."

He looks at me and the blank mask is gone. His nerves show in every muscle twitch around his mouth and his eyes are bright. "He's family."

I frown. "Magneto?

"He's my father."


	10. Chapter 10

"So, that's it. You do what he says, no matter how wrong it is, because he's your dad," I say, my voice sounds soft but I feel... I don't know how I feel. Torn apart because I kinda understand... torn apart because I can't help him now... torn apart because I can see Bruce glaring at me.

"No," Pietro says, his voice quivering with the rest of him. "I'm in this shit, because I couldn't do what he said. He wanted me to set off a bomb. There were people in the building and he wouldn't let me tell them to get out." His pitch soars and his voice cracks in places. "I said 'no', in front of the rest of his Acolytes." Pietro swallows. "I embarrassed him. He wants to—he has to make an example out of me. I was just supposed to stand there and take it like a man, right? Hell no. Hell. No. I ran."

And never stopped. He's been running from his father this whole time, not the shapeshifter or the mutant in red.

Pietro's eyes are bright again and he blinks like he's keeping tears at bay. Real men can't cry twice, I guess, which sucks because sometimes things are so shitty what's left to do but cry or go crazy? Crying might make you feel a little better (aside from the headache after); going crazy might get you put in Arkham by your friendly neighborhood Bat.

"What do you think he's gonna do to you?" I ask. It's his dad after all, how bad could it really be? If I was Pietro, I'd be more scared of the shapeshifter woman, or that mutant in red. They'd showed malice; Magneto had sent Lance, Toad, Billy Blob to bust Pietro out of police custody. Magneto, at least, doesn't want his son in jail.

Tears spike Pietro's silver lashes. "I don't know. I don't think he'll kill me, living examples are better. They're walking reminders. So, it's gonna be something painful and permanent. And because I'm his son, it's gotta be memorable because I insulted  _his_  bloodline. I make people think the House of Magnus is weak." He sneers as he talks. "Fuckin' bastard. I wish I  _did_  know where he was so I coulda told Wanda when she asked. They can kill each other for all I care.  _Fuck them_!"

Whoa—whoa... "Calm down, Pietro. No one's talking about killing... and what do you mean about wanting Magneto and Wanda to kill each other and you not caring?" I grip his shoulder and cringe. The whole bed's shaking with him and his bony little shoulder feels ready to fall apart in my hand.

My cousin laughs. The sound is hard and ugly. "Well—it's hard to love people who'd sooner see you dead, huh? How do you think I ended up in that prison truck? Wanda gift-wrapped me for Magneto, and was probably watching somewhere close to see if he showed up for me so she could jump him. I know she was there. I could fuckin' feel her. Did she try to stop me from going over that cliff? Did she try to do anything when all those bullets were flyin'?"

"I heard someone screaming for those bullets to stop—it was you, wasn't it? And when the truck went over, you tried to stop it. And you had your friend come down and get me, instead of letting me go to that mutant prison." His face contorts and he puts his back to me, as he cries again. "Why can't you be my  _real_  family? I wouldn't be so fucked up."

I rub his back, feeling sick and at a loss for what to say. What can I say to make this better? If he's telling me the complete truth, and I really, really think he is this time (my gut, the one Wally trusts with his permanent record, says he is), then  _Wanda_  is the mutant in red and she doesn't care if he lives or dies. His blood father wants to seriously hurt him so badly the scars will show for the rest of his life.

" _I'm so sorry._ " I lean over him and press my cheek to his. " _But I am your real family, okay? You got that. I'm going to help you_." But there are some facts I need, and he's in no shape to give them to me now.

Pietro hiccups between gasps and whimpers. "Put yourself between me and Magneto or Wanda, and you'll get hurt, Dickie. Don't. If you want to help," he keeps staring at the wall, "let me go. I'll hide better. I don't know how Wanda found me, but she won't again."

"You can't run forever," I say. "And I'm not scared of Magneto... or Wanda. I'll protect you, the Team will. You're in the protective custody of Young Justice now." And I'm going to get Bruce on this. He'll help me, he has to. It means too much to me for him to say no. "In a little while, it'll be the protective custody of the Justice League. No one's getting you here."

The whimpers and hiccups fade after a minute but he's still shaking like a rabbit in a trap. "Your good guys will help  _me_?"

I clear my throat and work off my heavy boots. I remove the cape next and then the belt and the gloves. I kick them all over the side of the bed and hear them hit the floor with multiple thumps and clinks. He stiffens at the noises but relaxes when I lie down next to him. It feels a little strange. When we were kids, we slept in the same bed all the time and thought nothing of it. Now, I wonder what Wally or Connor will think if they walk in on me spooning another guy?

Geez. But, you know what, screw them. I roll onto my side, tucking one arm under my head and draping the other around Pietro's bony waist. "As long as you tell me the truth and answer all of my questions, you'll get all the help you need."

" _Promise_?"

" _Cross my heart, hope to die_ ," I say with a giggle that turns into a laugh when he gives a snorting laugh back.

His breathing patterns changes as he falls back asleep and I lie here, staring at the bandage taped to the base of his skull. How the hell am I going to explain all of this to Bruce and how am I going to get Bruce to listen past the fact that I hijacked a juvenile delinquent on his way to lock-up?

An "IOU" is not gonna keep me out of being in deep shit this time.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

"...after the fire, we just—Wanda and me—we kinda wandered. Nobody wanted a couple of gypsy kids around. If something went missing, hey—those gypsy bastards took it. Crops died, hey—those gypsy demons killed them. People friggin' spat on us. We were seven—shit, I know we coulda passed for younger than that—but nobody cared. We slept wherever. And, yeah, we did steal. We needed stuff..." Pietro trails off, a faraway look in his glassy eyes. He sits with his knees to his chest, hugging them and rocking slightly. A light smile touches his lips. "We were too fast to catch. We stole a whole roast duck off a spit and the pie that went with it. I'll never forget how good it tasted, juicy and hot. Any kinda hot food was fuckin' ambrosia."

I shift my sitting position, folding my legs underneath me to get more comfortable, but I really need to talk to someone about getting better mattresses in this place. The infirmary beds are almost as bad as a hospital beds.

I watch Pietro absently massage his free wrists. I'd unlocked his cuffs after I'd woken up this morning to find him watching me sleep. As fast as he is, if he'd really wanted out of the cuffs, he probably could have freed himself while I was knocked out for the night.

He really trusts me.

"When Magneto came for us," Pietro's voice is as far away as his eyes, "I thought it was the best thing ever. He just showed up one day, out of nowhere. We were in some dirty city, I don't know where, we couldn't read the signs. We were sleeping in a shed or a cellar...I'm not sure, just know it had a door we could close. It was so cold, and I couldn't get warm and Wanda made me sit in her lap and we just held each other. And when everything went black... I remember thinking I was dead."

"Then the door opened, and there was a man in a black, leather trench coat. He looked so clean, so rich, and his eyes were just like mine and his hair, too. And he just reached in and picked us up, like dolls. And he brought us to his rich car and buckled us in back and covered us in blankets and turned on the heat. There was a lady with him, and she gave us food and hot water to drink. And we drove off together."

I keep quiet, not wanting him to stop, but his lips are trembling, like he's fighting the need to cry again. I scoot closer to him, my side touching his and he relaxes against me.

"First thing they did was give us a bath. Then, we got new clothes and a new last name, and plane tickets to New York. The house—it was the biggest house we'd ever seen and no one lived there, but us... and Father. It was so...so empty and quiet. And Magneto was so serious. He didn't like when we spoke anything but English. He didn't like when we sang or played."

"He made us go to school and the kids made fun of us, because we our English sucked. It was okay after a while, though. I got used to it. I liked being around a lot of people, but Wanda..." Pietro shook his head, smiling again. "She hated everything about being there, and she hated Magneto, too."

My smile matches Pietro's as I think about my dark-haired cousin. She had been a spitfire. If we played with her, she was boss. She picked the games, she decided the rules, and if we didn't play right, we were out.

"When we turned nine, things changed more. We didn't just have to speak English and go to school; we had to go to his lab, too. He had one in the basement." Pietro closes his eyes. "He didn't want kids that weren't mutants and he couldn't just wait, you know? Mutant powers come out when you go through puberty, but we were nine, it would be years before we did anything cool. So, he... if you're really scared... think you're gonna die... your body might do what it can to save you."

He's shaking again. I should tell him he can stop, to take a break, but I can't. My body is tense with anticipation and I think I might explode if I don't hear it all now.

"He had this psychic bastard come in every day to screw with our heads. And there were tests with lots of needles and machines that shocked us. I remember being shot up with so much caffeine I couldn't sleep for a week."

His voice is light, conversational even, but mouth is tight. "Then one day, I pissed him off so bad.  I couldn't stop stuttering when he asked me stuff and he smacked me across the face. I barely had time to taste the blood on my lips before Wanda went bonkers, and her powers just kinda exploded out of her. She pinned Magneto to the wall and all the needles on the lab table flew up in the air and pointed right at him. Then, like that, it was over. Magneto hit the floor and so did all the needles. I freaked out. I didn't know what was going on, but Wanda, she was glaring at Magneto like she hated him more than anything in the world."

Pietro's shaking so hard against me now, he's making me seasick. I wrap my arms around him, rubbing his back. "Tro, you can stop now." My voice is unsteady. I feel like a wrung towel from just hearing his story; I can't imagine what he must feel like.

I... I can't help but think, when all of this awful stuff was happening to Pietro and Wanda, where was I? For some of it, I was on tour with the circus, hugging my parents, eating ice cream and turning quadruples for audiences. For some of it, I was grieving and stumbling around Bruce's place like a zombie. For some of it, I was happy again, because Bruce took me and started training me to help people... but I didn't help Pietro. It's like it doesn't matter what I do; I can never save my family. Helpless, hopeless, failure... I hate it.

Pietro clears his throat a few times and he scrubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Magneto let us skip the lab for a week. He let us play outside and watch TV, like normal kids. We shoulda known something was up. One day, he said he was taking us horseback riding in the country. We got in the car and we drove a long time. We stopped at a mental hospital." He licks his lips.

"It looked like one of those places out of the horror movies where the people inside all moan and wear straight-jackets. These guys in white scrubs came out and they took Wanda, and Father... he held me back, he picked me up and kept my feet off the ground... and Wanda was taken inside. She was kicking and screaming and crying. I thought that she'd use her powers again, but she didn't. The doors closed and Father put me back in the car and it was over. He drove us back to his house like nothing happened, and he made me go to school like nothing happened, and he kept testing me."

I stare in horror as Pietro looks straight ahead, eyes vacant.

"Don't worry, she's out now," Pietro says airily. "She's got great powers, you know? Magneto loves that about her, but everything else?" He shakes his head. "He was excited, back then, about me. Wanda was amazing, so I should have been, too." A dark chuckle. "When my powers finally came out and... well they aren't like Wanda's or his, he didn't have much use for me anymore. After a few months, he said he had to leave and I couldn't go with him. He took me to a building and signed me over to strangers."

"My new daddy was the State of New York.  _God_ , I hate foster homes. I kinda lucked out compared to some people, 'cause I was a cute little kid. The first family I went with didn't have any kids at all. The second family only had one other foster kid. The third had a real kid of their own—asshole. The fourth—crazy Jesus freaks... the fifth..." His laughter chills me to the bone.

"The fifth." He sighs. "I was an only child there. Mommy couldn't wait to be on a PTA; Daddy coached high school basketball. I was a gift, I'm good at sports, I'm smart, and I'm one handsome son of a bitch. Coach was really into that last one. They were gonna adopt me and nothin' was gonna stop it. They were perfect... and I was ungrateful and I needed to stop telling ugly lies about Coach, because he'd never ever do those things."

Oh God.

"I got myself arrested to get out of being Coach's bitch. Juvenile delinquents don't make good adoptees, and I figured juvie couldn't be worse than Coach. Never got to juvie though, Magneto came back for me and took care of the paperwork again."

"That guy, your foster father, he hurt you?" Hurt—touched—raped. The fifth home... I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to recall the name of the family...the Donahues! They're picture perfect on paper.

Pietro shrugged. "He never did anything; I guess he was new at being a pedophile or somethin'. He just... he liked to look. It was like he had radar for when I was naked and he would just come in, into the bathroom, into my room—the only locks in that house were on the front and back doors—and he'd just stare and say things. He didn't like it when I talked to girls, he didn't like it when I hung out with guys, and I don't think he was banging the wife."

My heart is pounding in my chest. "That guy—there's no record at all about him being a possible pedophile."

"I told you, Coach would never do those ugly things," Pietro says. "Can't write a report about what can't possibly be true." He shrugs again, and he shifts in my lose embrace, wrapping his arms around me. "It's okay, DG. It's all in the past; nothing you can do about it now."

He lets me go and brushes my arms from his shoulders. With a sad smile, he speaks again, "So, Magneto came back and I ended up in Bayville with the Brotherhood. Magneto set it up to look like a boys' home, but it was just a front. The Brotherhood is like bad guys in training. He left Mystique—the shapeshifter bitch you met—in charge, but he didn't trust her, so he planted me there. She actually really was devoted to Magneto, but he screwed her over really bad, and yanno... woman scorned and all, she came up with his whole plan to bring him down." Pietro shudders.

"Part of her plan was breaking Wanda outta that asylum to use against Magneto. It was a good plan. Wanda was... is... she's crazy, DG, and she hates Magneto—and me now, too." He stops talking and bites his lip, big blue eyes on me. He looks guiltier than I feel on a bad day. "I tricked her, DG. I tricked Wanda. I tried to keep her outta the way, but she was set on getting back at Magneto, and... I couldn't let it happen. I gave Mystique's plan and Wanda up to Magneto and led them and the rest of the Brotherhood into a trap."

His voice is high and thin. "The Brotherhood, I wasn't supposed to care about them at all, but I lived with those guys. It's hard to live with people, young guys who've been screwed over just like you, and not care a little bit. I fucked up there. I started thinking of them as friends... I know they don't think of me like that anymore. Not after what I did to them."

"They all got exposed as mutants on live TV, and Freddy and Todd got caught by the sentinels and put in a mutant facility. The X-Men must have busted them out, but I don't really know what's going on with them now. Magneto doesn't think much of them, so I doubt he's gonna do anything with them for real. So, they're probably on their own. But what does it matter to me, right? I did my job for Magneto." He covers his face with his hands, just breathing. I stay quiet, watching.

"I didn't expect a medal, but I didn't expect things to be so shitty after either. Magneto still wasn't happy, everyone was pissed at me, and then I fucked up Magneto's mission, and I've been running for almost two months now. Every time I stopped for too long, somebody showed up. I can't even stop to sleep for more than a few hours. I catch naps on buses, so I'm always moving. I stopped too long in Gotham."

"Because you were lonely," I say and my heart breaks when he nods and rests his head on my shoulder.

"Lonely and tired," he breathes. "If you had pretended not to know me—and I really thought you were going to—I don't know. I really, really needed you right then. I told you 'thanks', right?"

I ruffle his hair, but I can't make myself laugh or smile. The muscles around my mouth just don't have it in them right now. "Yeah, you did."

We sit there, him breathing and me thinking. Wally and SB are still here, and I love them for not bothering me and Pietro, but I'm going to have to go out and talk to them soon because I think I know what I'm gonna do now.

"So... what next?" Pietro asks, sounding worn-out. "Your Team and that J-League are gonna protect me how? "

My fingers are still in his hair. "I don't think it's going to be the Team or the Justice League protecting you, Tro. I think... I think we're gonna keep this in the family."

Pietro lifts his head off my shoulder and turns to frown at me. "What do you mean?"

"How would you like a tour of the Bat Cave?"


	11. Chapter 11

"You're nuts, like absolutely, positively, certifiably nuts, man," Wally says. I can't argue with him, because I kinda think I'm a little crazy, too. "You're just gonna pop into the Bat Cave with a non-Bat and ask what's for lunch?"

I run a hand through my hair and laugh, imaging busting into the Cave with Pietro and asking Alfie to set another plate. Yeah, Bruce is gonna crap a brick, two bricks, then throw them at my head. I flop back in the arm chair behind me and scowl at Wally who's sprawled over the couch in front of the 72 inch flat screen TV. Then den is a mess of food wrappers, soda cans, crumbs and video game controllers. Throw pillows are on the floor along with a sleeping bag.

"Wallace, you're a pig," I say, and he oinks.

He's not wearing his mask, and he didn't freak out when Pietro followed me out of the infirmary and saw his bare face. He just kinda shrugged, still half-asleep, and said "Whatever. Keep it to yourself, dude."

I'm wearing my street clothes, sans sunglasses. Connor's sleeping in, so I'm not too worried about him coming out and seeing me, but if he does... Like Wally had said, 'Whatever. Keep it to yourself, dude.' After what SB did for me and Tro, he can have my social security number if he wants it.

"Your cuz is an oinker, too," Wally says with a smirk. He tilts his head toward the kitchen where sounds of a speedster rooting through the fridge and pantries and eating up everything in his wake can be heard. "You know, you really should have fed him sooner. I have to eat every 30 minutes. He went for hours."

I frown, feeling like a douche for not realizing that myself, but Tro hadn't said anything. "I gave him an IV."

"For water," Wally says. "Surprised his stomach didn't start eating his flesh, man." Wally's talking with a smile, I know he's joking, but I feel like an ass. I'd stared at how skinny Pietro was, and wondered if he'd been skipping meals to lose so much weight since I'd seen him last. It just didn't occur to me to think: Duh, Dickie, he's like Wally. He loses pounds by the hour if he uses his powers and doesn't eat right before and after.

Or maybe not. I haven't really asked him about how his powers work yet. They seem like Wally's, he eats like Wally, he talks and twitches like Wally.

Pietro comes out of the kitchen with a jug of milk and a box of Cocoa Pebbles. "Hey, this has a name written on it. Can I have it anyway?" He waves the cereal box.

"Dude! That's mine! That's like my last box!" Wally's up in a flash and standing in front of Pietro. "Eat the Apple Jacks!"

"Already did," Pietro says with a wicked grin. "And the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and the Frosted Flakes, and those round things in the pink tin. I thought they were cookies, but they were  _nasty_. I need the cereal to wash them down with." He shakes the box in Wally's face and Wally's hand blurs toward the box... but Pietro blurs, too. I blink and Pietro's sitting on the arm of the chair I'm lounging in. He shakes Wally's cereal box again, and Wally growls, vanishing. I look to my cousin to find him gone, too.

Crashes and the sounds of furniture scraping and sliding across the floor rock the base. Magazines fly off the table as blurs of orange and green and white and blue streak around the room. Every few seconds, I catch glimpses of Pietro, posing and shaking the cereal box, and Wally glaring.

"Can'tcatchme.Can'tcatchme.You'retoomuchofaklutz!" Pietro sings.

"Gimmemycerealyoubratthief!" Wally shouts.

The couch crashes over onto its side and Wally sits sprawled beside it, rubbing his knees. "Owowowowwow.... Shit!"

"Klutzklutzklutz!"

"Wally, is he faster than you?" I have to know. Wally glares at me and disappears. I gasp as a skinny body squeezes into my chair. Pietro's sitting beside me.

He pressed his lips to my ear. "I can't tell who's faster 'cause he keeps knocking into stuff." He giggles and blurs away as an orange streak rams into my chair.

"Yiii!" I throw myself into a back tuck and land on my feet next to Wally who lands on his belly and skids across the stone floor.

"That'sit! NomoreMr.NiceGuy!" Wally's on his feet and huffing like an asthmatic. "You..." he stops as a door slams and we hear a wall crack.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp-Stomp.

We look at each other and then at the entrance to the den as a bedraggled, sleepy-eyed Connor trudges into the room, large hands balled into fists at his sides. "What the hell are you doing?" He roars.

I point at Wally who squeaks. From the kitchen, I hear the sound of bowls rattling and spoons scraping porcelain.

"I was saving my cereal from Robbie's cousin!" Wally shouts. "He ate everything else, something has to be sacred! I think he even drank your milk. That jug he had looked like it said 'organic'."

Connor growls deep in his chest, eyes narrowing, then the anger is gone, and he's staring at me with an almost wondrous expression on his face. Eh?

"Robin, your mask..." he says, and I feel a flash of "Oh crap" before I remember that I don't care.

"Yeah, it itches and I'm not really a fan of sunglasses in a building. So," I glance back at Wally and grin, "keep it to yourself, dude, but my name's Dick Grayson when I'm not wearing leggings."

"The rich guy's kid?" Connor says. "You..." He freezes. "Does that mean Batman's...?"

"The rich guy?" I raise a brow and shrug. "Keep it to yourself."

Connor nods at me, so serious I almost crack up. This guy will take my identity to his grave. "Uh... thanks... uh, Dick. I... nice to meet you, I guess."

I snort. "Likewise... I guess." I clear my throat and tilt my head toward the kitchen. "Tro, you almost done eating everything in there?"

"Hey... how long's this pizza been in here?" Pietro calls back, sounding preoccupied.

"Geez..." Wally grumbles. "I guess I gotta go home, too, seeing as there's no more food." He makes a face. "Pizza? When's the last time we ordered pizza in here?"

"M'gann and I had some a few weeks ago," Connor says. "Guess we forgot to throw the last of it out."

"Gross," I mutter. Should I tell Pietro not to eat it? Nah.

"What do you mean you gotta go home, 'too'?" Connor asks, looking from Wally to me while scratching his bare chest. The dude has some serious muscle, and I'd be lying if I say I'm not jealous. I spend hours in the gym, and it makes me stronger, but not buffer. I got muscles, but they're skinny muscles, and I'm skinny, so I look like a string bean next to Connor... and Wally. Wally's no Boy of Steel, but he looks like he can hold his own in a fight.

"I'm going home in a little bit, and taking Pietro with me. I think he'll be safer in the Bat Cave and..." Batman will be there. I know I'm 15, I know I'm going to college soon, but still, sometimes you just want your dad to help you take care of things.

Connor frowns. "I thought this was gonna be a Team thing, an 'us' thing. I can still help out." He looks hurt and a rush of warmth runs through me.

Geez, Con.

I would hug him, but only Pietro and Wally like hugs.

"I know, and I'll call you if I need you, man, but... I think this is beyond us," I say. And maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but when it comes to dealing with daddies, I'd rather let a daddy handle it. This is more than just beating the bad guys. This is family and legal custody and all sorts of ugliness that's no business for non-relatives.

Pietro comes out of the kitchen, gnawing on a decrepit pizza slice. His eyes scan the room and he waves at Connor.

Connor stares at him. "That pizza's rancid."

"I've eaten worse." The pizza's gone in two bites. "I'm Quicksilver, by the way. Never-got-to-introduce-myself." He smoothes his devil horns off his forehead with one hand and licks pizza grease off the fingers of the other.

"Superboy," Connor says, still staring. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Pietro looks bemused, Wally grins and I groan, palming my forehead. Wally had loaned Pietro something to wear, since the clothes he'd worn in were ripped and bloody. I hadn't taken in his outfit before, but my cousin is wearing a pair of too-big jeans belted tight around the waist, and an over-sized sweatshirt with my friggin' face on it.

"Oh yeah! That's a Team Grayson shirt. You want one? They're hot, baby, and I'll sell you yours at a discounted rate."

Super-speed does not save Wally's ass from my foot.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

I park my motorcycle in the garage. I keep one without the Robin insignia on it at Mount Justice, too. Pietro rode double, hanging onto my waist and fiddling with my iPod. We didn't talk the whole trip, and he's still quiet as he climbs off my bike and stretches his arms and legs.

Bruce's street legal cars are all here, so he's not at the office or undercover, and Batman's not usually out in the afternoon. Pietro walks around the garage, peering in the windows of the Porsche and Lamborghini. His hands hover over the hoods of the twin Ferraris, as he gazes at the sea of luxury cars, and racing bikes surrounding us. Mixed with the new cars are vintage models and showroom classics.

"Holy shit! How rich is this guy?" Pietro puts his hands behind his head and whistles. "How rich are you?"

I shrug. I don't really like talking about how much money I'm worth these days. I've got a trust fund I get access to when I'm 21 that's turned into a real nest egg, not to mention Bruce made me his heir apparent. Yar, yar, if something ever happened to Bruce I'd have to share it all with Jason, Tim and Alfie, but... it makes me uncomfortable. From trailers and tents to mansions and summer cottages.

"Loan me 20 bucks?" Pietro's beside me again, squeezing my shoulder. "Feels weird living in a big place, huh?"

"It used to," I say. "Sometimes it still does." I watch him, frowning at the shadows in his eyes. "You said Magneto's house was pretty big, too."

"Dude, it doesn't compare. You could fit that house in this garage." He rubs his arms through the folds of the sweatshirt and looks down at his sneakers. "Is your new family gonna be okay with me coming in right now, or do I need to wait out here while you explain?"

"No, you're coming in with me. I'll explain everything with you-what's wrong?" He's still looking at his shoes, and now he's biting his lip.

"It's just... I..." He looks at me and smiles self-deprecatingly. "I don't get invited inside houses where people keep the real silver on the tables. Even in Magneto's house, he locked up the valuables."

I'm tired of hearing about that bastard Magneto and what he did to my family members. I take one of Pietro's thin hands and march toward the door that will take us into a back hallway of the manor. "Family is always welcome here."

"But I'm..."

"My family, which makes you extended family to the rest of the house," I say. "Come on, you aren't the only Rom to pass through these doors. And my brother Jason, hah, before he moved in here, he got caught stealing the tires off the Batmobile. He had the car up on bricks, man. It was epic."

I talk as I pull Pietro through the long hallways decorated with portraits of dead Waynes. They all look solemn and boring and I wonder what kind of lives they led and what they'd think of Batman.

"The tires? You're lyin'," Pietro says, a smile in his voice.

"Nope. If we'd taken like five minutes longer getting back to the car, he would have gotten away with it," I say. We reach the door that leads into the kitchen and I touch my hand to it. Behind the door I hear Jason's voice, and Tim's, they're arguing (surprise, surprise) and there's Alfie's "tut-tut". I glance over my shoulder at Pietro, who's pale as a ghost, and take a deep breath.

Here goes.

I push open the door and step into the kitchen where Alfred's at the stove and Tim and Jason are sitting around the kitchen table eating apple slices and bickering,

"Hey guys!" The direct approach seemed like a good idea to me a second ago, but with Jason, Tim and Alfie staring at me like that, maybe it's not. "Uh... this is my cousin, Pietro. He's... visiting."

"Young man," Alfred says, covering the pot he's stirring and wiping his hands on a dish towel, "Master Bruce has requested that you go straight to his study when you got home."

Alfie's face is stern, all business, Tim looks nervous and Jason looks apologetic. What the hell is going on? My stomach drops into my shoes. "Sure, but what's..."

"Please take your guest with you. Master Bruce wishes to see him, too."

Oh hell.   
  



	12. Chapter 12

"Okay, okay, let me go in first and get the yelling out of the way, then I'll come get you," I say. I stand a few feet from the opened door of Bruce's study. Normal people close doors when they're angry, Bruce leaves them open so he can yell at the objects of his ire when they walk past. Pietro stands a few feet from me, bouncing in place. "You better not run. You promise me right now you won't run."

"Yeah, yeah, crossmyheartandallthat." Every few seconds something about Pietro blurs. Speedsters really are annoying when they're nervous. "Buttakeyourtime."

I raise a brow. Someone named Quicksilver wants someone else to take their time? "Don't run."

"I won't-I won't!" Pietro mimics sticking a needle in his eye and sticks his tongue out at me and I snort, feeling a little better about entering the lion's den. It's all for a worthy cause. I'm saving the hyperactive idiot about to break a thousand dollar vase.

"Watch the vase!" I shake my head and straighten my spine. Counting to three, I enter Bruce's study and close the door. Then, once again, I go for the direct approach.

"Hey Bruce!"

Bruce is sitting at his desk with his chin on steepled hands. His blue eyes are like ice as I come closer. I sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and cross my legs to keep them from jittering. "So, uh, you wanted to see me?"

Oh man, if looks could kill I want to be cremated not buried. Scatter my ashes on Megan Fox or Taylor Swift.

"Richard, what did you do last night?" Bruce asks, or I should say Batman asks. I hate these kinds of questions. It is oh-so-obvious that Batman knows exactly what happened; he just wants to see if I'll change parts of the story.

"Um... well, I won 4 gold medals at Regionals. I'm..."

"Richard..." Batman growls.

"And then I got some of the Team together and trailed a military convoy to set a prisoner free. Let me explain?" I fold my hands in my lap, keeping my eyes on Batman's stone cold face. His jaw tightens but he doesn't say anything, which in Bat-speak means: proceed.

"The prisoner, he's my cousin. But you probably know that. He's in trouble. He's running away from a terrorist organization. Yes, it's true he did work for it, but he doesn't anymore. He wants out and they're threatening him. Those guys that attacked the convoy—that we stopped from hurting people might I add—are part of that organization. If we hadn't been there, they would have taken Pietro back to Magneto and he'd be made an example of. Plus, the convoy was taking Pietro to a mutant facility. I don't think those places are quite kosher, Bruce. If he needs to be locked up, I want him in regular jail."

I stop, panting. I'd said all that in one breath.

Batman's gaze is still icy, but he takes his chin off his hands and sits up straight. "You gave him our identities."

A punch in the gut. "Yeah, I did. I... he wouldn't trust me otherwise. He's so scared Bruce. I... I brought him here, because I want to help him, and I need you to help me. I don't think I can handle this one on my own."

Batman remains quiet and icy and I just sit there. Most people freak out when someone's too quiet or looks too cold after you ask for something, but I know Batman a little too well for that. He's passing decision. He's not gonna show me anything until he knows what he wants to do.

I go for the low blow. I slump in the chair a bit and sigh, bringing one of my hands up from my lap to rest on my stomach and then letting it stray to my left flank. I rub gently, and shift in my seat like I'm uncomfortable, before putting my hand back in my lap. I don't look at Batman, if I do, he'll know I'm doing this on purpose.

"Is Maximoff outside the door?" Batman's still in the building, but I chance a glance and see that the ice has melted. Oh thank God. I think he's gonna help us.

I nod. "Yeah. I told him to wait. Want me to get him?"

Batman's levels me with a look. "This means a lot to you."

"He's family," I say, drenching the word in every emotion I attach to that word. Family: loyalty, unconditional love, sacrifice, belonging, protectiveness. " _We_ , us, Batman and Robin, are about saving family." Neither one of us would be in this business if our families hadn't been ripped away from us.

Bruce—because Bruce is back—sighs, as he seems to drink me in. "What did you eat today?"

I blink, taken aback by that. "What?"

"You, did you eat? Sleep? You're pale," Bruce says. He stands up and comes around his desk to stand in front of me. "You're neglecting yourself after all the hard work Leslie did for you last week."

All the hard work Dr. Leslie did? I'm the one who had to lie on my butt all week eating highly nutritious cardboard and drinking cranberry juice. "I ate, Bruce. I had some cereal"—Raisin Bran because, as it turns out, Pietro  _doesn't_  eat everything—"and I slept"—for a few hours, at least.

I close my eyes as Bruce's large callused hand scans my forehead, and then strokes my hair. "Bruce, I..." I trail off, opening my eyes to look at the big man I think of as my dad. He was a giant to me when I was little; he's still a giant now, strong, brave, and able to fix everything when it comes right down to it. "Thank you."

His eyes are soft and he gives me one of his rare, real smiles. "Don't thank me yet. I still haven't met... my nephew?"

I beam at him. "You want him to call you Uncle Bruce?"

Bruce grumbles under his breath and I chuckle.

"I'll get him," I say. I spring up from the chair, putting myself eye to mid-chest with Bruce. Without looking up at his face, I wrap my arms around his torso and squeeze tight. His hands ghost over my back before I let go and bound for the office door, opening it and calling out, "Tro, come meet Bruce!"

Wind tousles my hair and Pietro is standing beside me in the doorway, mimicking me by peering out into the hall as if he's looking for someone, too. I scowl at him and try to land a soft punch, but he moves to the other side of me.

"Too-slow."

I hate speedsters, especially Wally because he makes face-shirts.

"Bruce, this is my cousin, Pietro Maximoff," I say, sighing in relief when Pietro holds still and lets me take his shoulder and turn him toward Bruce.

Pietro wrings his hands together and fidgets under Bruce's scrutiny. I gotta give Bruce credit for not doing the Batman glare, but the full attention of Bruce Wayne is nothing to scoff at either. His eyes are a little like Superman's lasers, they can burn when he wants them to, but he's not burning Pietro, he's reading him—and I hope he notices everything that I do. Too skinny, too pale, haunted, afraid, lonely, young, hurt... and used up by people who're supposed to love him.

"I'm Bruce Wayne," Bruce says after a beat, and extends a hand for Pietro to shake. I smile as Pietro's sweaty hand grips Bruce's.

"Hi," Pietro says, his voice a shadow of its former annoyingness.

Bruce doesn't let go of Pietro's hand, or his eyes. "While you're in this house, you will follow my rules, and while you're here you will be protected by me. So long as you follow the rules, you'll have nothing to worry about from anyone. After you and Dick have had something to eat and a few hours more sleep, I'm going to question you and you are going to answer everything I ask. Do you understand?"

Pietro nods. "Y—yessir."

"Good," Bruce says. The severity lightens a bit, and he releases Pietro hand and pats his shoulder. "For appearance sake, call me Bruce."

"Bruce?"

I grin. "I like 'Uncle Bruce'. Has a nice ring to it."

Bruce clears his throat pointedly, his arms are folded over his chest and he's looking at the grandfather clock against the wall. "Dick, have Alfred prepare a room for Pietro and let him know our guest will be staying for a while until we figure out a new arrangement."

I nod. "Yeah, sure." I cannot believe how great this is all working out. I want to share my smile with Pietro, but he's frowning and watching Bruce with a strange light in his eyes. He's confused, yeah, but there's something else, too.

"I... Magneto never really told me much. I can't give you a whole lot of information about his plans. I... I'm not even that good of a mutant. I really can't do much for you... Bruce." He stammers and looks at the ground... in shame. A fine tremor runs through his body.

Why is he saying this to Bruce? Does he really think Bruce needs some sort of payment for his help? But then again, in Pietro's life, when has anyone ever done anything for him for free? His own father used him... Wanda used him.

I'm frozen solid, I don't even think my heart's going. I don't move, but Bruce does. He claps a hand on Pietro's thin shoulder. "Whatever you can tell me about Magneto will be sufficient enough; I don't require anything more from you other than good behavior. Now, off with you two."

I regain control of my arms and legs, though my middle's still a block of ice as I ponder about Pietro thinking he needed to pay my dad for services rendered. Gently, I guide him out of Bruce's office and back through the hallways. He's still shaking, but the tremors are calming down.

"That guy, Wayne... Bruce, he's really Batman?" Pietro asks.

I nod. "Yeah, the Dark Knight in the flesh."

"I thought..." Pietro begins.

"What, that he'd have fangs and claws?" I poke his ribs.

Pietro jabs me back. "No, I just thought...he'd be different. That's all." He puts a little distance between us, then turns, walking backward so that he's facing me. "So, he's for real? He's gonna try to fix it so Magneto can't get me, and I don't have to do anything?"

I nod. "Yeah. Batman doesn't get paid for saving people."

Pietro hums and turns back around as we reach a back staircase. "You know what I really thought?" He situates himself on the rail, ready to slide down it.

"What?" I ask.

"I thought he'd be... I dunno, bigger." He shrugs and slides down the rail.

I watch him go, shaking my head. What had he expected, Superman?

Geez.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Jason, Tim and I stare as Pietro finishes his sixth helping of Alfred's chicken chili and wild rice. He even eats the salad and cornbread Alfred put in the center of the table for us all to share. Yes, I should be used to the appetite of a speedster by now, but as I watch my cousin tapping the table with his fingers, eyes darting around in search of more food, I'm really starting to think that something's up. Pietro could just be making up for missed meals; he  _is_  really skinny, but I don't know.

"Dude, you should do birthday parties. Shit, the kids at my school would pay to watch your black hole act," Jason says. He keeps his chili and cornbread close and his hand stays on his salad fork like he's ready to use it to defend his food. It'd probably be pretty useless against Pietro if he actually did want to take Jason's cornbread.

Pietro chugs ice tea from a tall glass, eyes on Jason. "I don't work cheap."

Jason snorted. "Who said be cheap about it? Hell, do it at Dickie-bird's school and charge hundreds, man."

"Hmm..." Pietro pokes at a cornbread crumb, and looks at my half-eaten plate. "Are you..."

"He can finish it," Tim says, so quiet I have to lean in to hear him. "Alfred didn't give him a lot, so he should eat it all."

I raise both brows at Tim and give him a smile. Any time he speaks up at the table with something that's not a reply to a Bruce question or a "Bruce quote", I'm gonna encourage him. So, for him, I'm gonna force down the rest of this chili, even though I feel like a stuffed pork chop at this point. I swear my stomach's shrunk.

"Ol' Alfie prolly won't let him get up until his plate's clean," Jason says, sharing a look with Tim, and I feel my smile widening until my cheeks hurt. Why Jason, are you seeing little Timmy in a new light? What all happened on their pizza adventure last night?

"You're having trouble eating?"

The worry in Pietro's voice rips me away from Jason and Tim, and I frown at him. His full attention is on me. His pale face is drawn and his eyes are dark, searching me. "Are you hurting or anything? Uncle Vic always laid down after he ate, and he drank more water. You should have more water. I'll get it!"

He's gone and back before I can say, "No thanks."

He's holding an 8-pack of Evian water bottles. "I-had-to-search-the-whole-kitchen-for-these-things. Why-are-there-so-many-pantries-in-there? How-many-people-used-to-live-in-this-house?" He sets the water bottles on the table with a hard thump and flops back in his seat, smirking as he drops a new square of cornbread onto his plate.

"How long you staying for again? Didja ever say?" Jason eyeballs Pietro, his lips curled.

Pietro shrugs at him and the cornbread disappears. "Your daddy didn't say. Whassamatter, don't like me?" A water bottle appears next to my elbow and I grip it.

Well, damn. Jason and Tim bickering I expect, but please, please don't add Jason and Pietro bickering to that. I gaze at my food. True, Alfie didn't give me a heaping portion of chili and yes, I want to eat the few bites left for Timmy, but if Jase and Tro start going at it, I don't know if I can.

Jason narrows his eyes at Pietro. That's his "sizing up" glare. He's trying to figure Pietro out. Good luck with that when he's wearing his bastard mask. That's what I'm gonna call it when Pietro's face goes blank and he gives that smirk that doesn't mean anything at all. I hope Jason sees it as a bastard mask, too, and not just as Pietro actually being a bastard.

After a minute longer, Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. "I don't care enough about you to not like ya. Just keeps your hands off my food, and we don't got a problem." He sneers at Pietro for good measure and kicks me hard under the table.

I grunt and stomp his foot before he can snatch Monkey Paw away. He gasps and chokes, and yeah, I really should have taken my shoes off before I smashed his bare toes but he kicked me right in the bone!

"Fuck!" He yells when he sucks in enough air, and I jerk my head to one side to avoid the cornbread flying at my head.

"Master Richard and Master Jason!" Alfred's voice comes from the bowels of the kitchen and both Jason and me go still.

It's not fair. Jason's the one cussing and throwing food, but Alfred snaps my name out first. But then again, he's Alfie, so he knows I'm the instigator.

"Dickhead," Jason whispers, taking a big bite out of what's left of his cornbread.

"Asshole." I prod my chili with a spoon and open the water bottle Pietro gave me. I take a few swigs just to make him happy.

Timmy snickers and Jason pegs a piece of cornbread at him, too. It splashes into his glass of ice tea and sinks to the bottom. The big-eyed look on Tim's face makes me snort and choke on my water and Jason starts laughing. Laughing and choking kinda hurts, but I can't stop laughing, because Jason won't. Tim stares at us like we're nuts, and Pietro watches us with this sad little smile that sobers me up after a minute.

Alfred comes in with a plate of strawberry cheesecake, but instead of setting it on the table, he settles us with a long look. "Young sirs, I fear that I am going to have to reeducate you on the benefits of good table etiquette. I am most embarrassed at your behavior, and in front of a guest." Alfred tuts, but there's a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes.

"I also see that none of you, except Master Pietro, has finished his meal. You know that I do not serve dessert to children who do not clean their plates."

Jason balks. "If you don't let us get some now, the Black Hole over there will eat it all!"

"Hm." Alfred's analytical gaze falls on Pietro who's scowling at Jason. "Since Master Pietro has eaten his meal, if he would like to have seconds on his dessert, he may, but after that perhaps a healthier alternative."

Alfred puts the cake on the table and cuts two slices for Pietro, then removes the cake from the table, giving me, Jason and Tim the Alfie-eye again before leaving... with dessert.

My brothers and I stare at each other. Not getting any dessert is fine with me, but Jase loves cheesecake, and I've never seen Timmy skip out on sweets. The sound of a fork scraping china is the soundtrack to Bat-Brothers Grim.

Pietro's dessert plate is clean and he's grinning at us, eyes dancing with pent-in energy. God, Alfie just fed a speedster a bag of sugar. "Better eat up, kids, or no cake for you. And keep those elbows off the table, huh?"

Tim glares and Jason slams both elbows on the table and rests his chin on the bridge of his folded hands. "You know, we been sitting here making nice, but we never got the story on you and why you're here, or what got Bruce so pissed off this morning. Dude, he was so pissed at Dickie-bird there he forgot he was pissed at me. Thanks for that, B.T.W., but still. You guys gonna tell us what the hell's goin' on or what?"

Yikes. Leave it to Jay to jump to that. Hell, I'm surprised he waited this long. "Okay, Jay, it's like this..."

"My dad's an evil mutant overlord who wants to take over the world, and hey, he can probably, actually do it, too. But you know the Master of the World can't have a pansy-ass for a kid, and... well, I'm a pansy ass, because I don't think it's cool to blow people up. And I kinda like humans. Got a few in the family, and quite frankly, they treat me a helluva lot better than the mutants in the family. So, uh, I'm hiding out 'cuz my dad wants to break my back or cut off my feet, so when I have to get rolled around everywhere, people will look and say: Whoa...he did that to his own kid? Don't fuck with Magneto."

Jason makes some interesting faces sometimes, but the one he makes when Pietro says "Magneto" takes the cake. Hell, he can have one of my gold medals for the way his eyes bug out of his head. I almost want to leap over the table and push them back in his face before they fall in his chili.

"Magneto, the mutant terrorist that had the demonstration in New York City," Tim says slowly. He studies Pietro. "A lot of people who saw that broadcast thought he was killed in the event, but that was obviously staged. Did you help with that?"

Pietro nods. "No and yes. No, his 'death' wasn't staged. Nobody planned for  _that_  to happen. We were supposed to do a lot of damage and he was gonna make a speech and then make public examples of the... the mutants trying to stop us. Then things went crazy, and yeah, I helped, I helped set up the demonstration and I got Magneto out of the way of the falling sentinel that woulda killed him." Pietro runs a hand through his hair. "The whole thing was one big mess, and he was so pissed after it. He didn't want anybody thinking he was dead, and when he realized they did, it screwed up his other plans and he had to change everything. He's got this flare for dramatics, so he wants to announce he's still alive with a big bang."

Pietro's laughter is as hollow as his voice and facial expression. "I just don't know when, or how, or if he's waiting to get me first. Don't wanna find out to tell you the truth." He taps his fork on his empty plate, ignoring the sympathetic looks my brothers are tossing him.

"You guys really think that butler guy was serious about not letting me get more cake?" He swallows and blinks a few times, eyes bright. "I'd really like some more."

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Alfred wanted to set Pietro up in a guest room, but Pietro insisted that sleeping on the sofa bed in my room was better than okay for him. Alfie makes up the sofa bed while I wait for Bruce to finish questioning my cousin. After dinner, one where Pietro practically swallowed an entire roast chicken, Bruce had taken Pietro to his office.

"Aside from the horrible circumstances surrounding his visit and extended stay, I'll bet you are pleased to have your cousin with us, Master Richard," Alfred says as he smoothes the comforter over the full-size mattress that folds out of my sofa.

"Yeah, I am," I say. I'm doing my nightly stretches. Jason calls them my pretzel impressions, but he's just jealous 'cause he can't do my contortion moves. I roll from my side onto my back and push myself up into a handstand with straight legs and pointy toes.

"He seems a nice lad. Though, I can tell he's been treated very badly in his lifetime," Alfred says.

I hear the sound of pillows fluffing as I bring my legs down into a spread eagle. I flip myself over slowly, balancing on my fingertips. "He has," I grunt.

I lower myself to the floor, relaxing when my butt touches my yoga mat, but keeping my legs spread eagle. I work my left leg behind me, stretching it until it brushes my right shoulder, and then do the same with the right until it brushes my left shoulder.

"Well, we shall all do our best to ensure that he is properly treated here. For the boy's safety, I presume I shall be reprising my role as home instructor. He'll also need new garments. While he's as tall as Master Jason, he's quite thin."

I frown as Alfred ticks things off his list as if he's preparing for Pietro to become a permanent addition to the household roster. Bruce hadn't said anything about... well, making the manor Pietro's real home, but Tro doesn't have anyone else or anywhere else to go. Why not let him live here with us? He already knows the family secret.

I sigh. Some people get butterflies in their stomachs, I get monster dragonflies. Bruce is an awesome guy, and yeah he took me and Jason and now Tim in, but the manor's not a boys' home. He can't adopt every kid with a sob story. But, Pietro's not just any kid, he's related to me, so maybe Bruce will think about it.

I'd have Pietro here every day, a person who remembers my parents, and traveling, and running around and just being... I don't know... just being, I guess. I don't think I ever thought about anything in those days. Yeah, I was a kid and I'm told normal kids don't think about stuff; they don't need to. I started thinking at eight and a half and never stopped, but before that... it was good. I want to bring back  _good_. I want to bring  _good_  to Jason and Tim, and hell, Bruce, but... I don't think it'll ever happen for them. It's been too long for Bruce, and I don't know if Tim ever had  _good_ ; I know Jase didn't.

"Master Richard, one day you will get tangled up in those spindly arms and legs of yours and I fear I won't be able to sort you out again," Alfred says, smiling as he comes to stand beside my yoga mat.

I grin and make a show of untangling myself. I lie flat on my back when I'm done, staring up at Alfie. "Do you think Bruce might want Pietro to stay here, with us, for good?"

Alfred hums, his smile fading from his lips but not his eyes. "I don't pretend to know what Master Bruce may or may not want or do, but even if Master Pietro does not become a permanent resident of the manor, I am certain that Master Bruce will have a strong hand in finding him a wonderful home."

I nod. Yeah, Bruce would at least do that. But geez, the disappointment I felt when Alfie said that... I really want Tro here.

"You should delight in the fact that you've found each other," Alfred says. "Now that you have, you take care to never lose each other again."

I tuck my arms behind my head. "I won't lose him, Alf. Thanks for the advice."

Alfred tuts and his moustache twitches, though his eyes are light with humor. "You're welcome, young sir, and here is some more advice. Get off of the floor and take your shower, so that you can go to bed at a respectable hour tonight. You look dreadful."

I stick my tongue out at the old man and sit up as he shuffles to my door. He pauses in the doorway and gazes back at me. "I wish it concerned you to take better care of yourself. You're like Master Bruce in that regard." He shakes his head.

I open my mouth and close it.

"Goodnight, Master Richard. I will be checking to make sure that the light under your doors goes out at 11 pm." He leaves the room, not closing the door behind him.

Well... when Alfred gets like that it's always in your best interest to do as he says. I get myself off the floor and head to my bathroom for a shower. When I come back out all squeaky clean, hair still wet, Pietro's bouncing on my bed.

"Hey!" I pull the towel around my shoulders off and snap it at him like a whip. He laughs and flickers—now I see him, now I don't—and ends up behind me. He snatches my towel and snaps it at me. I drop into a low crouch and kick his legs out from under him and tackle him when he falls.

We're a laughing pile of elbows and knees.

I pin him to the floor, and then spring back to my feet, planting my heel in his chest. "I claim this land in the name of Grayson."

Pietro smirks at me and pushes my foot off his sternum. He sits up, crisscrossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. He tilts his head back to gaze at me, looking thoughtful. "That guy, Bruce... he's interesting."

"Yeah?" Just interesting? Not intimidating or scary beyond belief?

"He's really into his Batman business. He does the third degree like the police wish they could. It was... intense. But after I talked to him, I..." Tro blinks. "I think the guy might actually stand a chance against Magneto. I mean, he's got no power, he's just human, but he's dangerous-seeming, you know?"

I nod. I know.

Pietro takes his hands off his knees and leans back on them instead. His eyes are microscopes dissecting me. "How did you get mixed up in all of this, Dickie? That guy—he's not normal, and you are. Does he have something over you?—because I don't get it. You don't have meta powers, you're not a mutant, and you're not crazy. I read stuff about you and what you do. It's dangerous. You almost died a few times. Why do you do it?"

I plop down on the floor in front of him, so that we're on eye level.

"Why are you Robin?"   


	13. Chapter 13

It's a loaded question, but one I'm used to. Metas new to the game ask me all the time.  _"How does a kid like you get mixed up in all this craziness?"_ The answer is easy, though. "Because I want to be Robin."

"Why? Yeah, Bruce seems like a decent guy, but if he's got something over you and he's making you feel like you owe it to him or something, it's fucked up. I mean, you obviously got some mad skills, man, but you still don't have any powers. Those bad guys you piss off, they can kill you. I mean what happens if you fall the wrong way--you can't fly! If a bomb goes off too close to you, you don't have super-speed to get out of the way. You don't have invisible force fields to protect you. You aren't super strong. You're just... a human doing things the police won't do, and they get paid, and they're all over 18! You don't even use a gun."

Pietro grips my knees. "I know you're not crazy, so why?"

I sigh and put my hands over his. "I have to, Tro. It's a calling. Some people teach, some people go on missions to Africa, some people preach; I save people. The police aren't enough. The FBI isn't enough."

Pietro's eyes delve into mine and he tilts his head. "Is it about Aunt Mary and Uncle John? Is it a revenge thing for you? Because normal kids don't just watch the news and jump up and say, 'I'm gonna put on a costume and fight crime'...and then actually do it."

Just gut me why don't you? I pull one of my hands off his and press it to my bubbling stomach at the mention of my parents. I blink and see the dangling lines, smell the popcorn and peanuts, and hear myself screaming.

"Yeah, it is about my parents, but it's not about revenge. The guy who did it is long dead anyway.  Died of natural causes, even. Karma, I say." I really want him to understand, but looking into his cynical eyes, I don't know if I can do it. "I don't want that to happen to another kid, and I can't save everybody—" Hear that Wally? "—but the ones I can, might not have nightmares for the rest of their lives, like I will. And on the nights when I stop the bad guys and put them away, my nightmares aren't as real. It's like I get to watch the show, but I don't have to be part of it. I can't change the dream, but I can make it end before it gets bad." I don't have to see them fall; I don't have to hear the screaming. But I'll always smell the popcorn and peanuts and know what happens next.

Pietro still frowns at me, but he lowers his eyes and pulls his hands off my knees, bringing his knees to his chest. "Should I feel like you then?" His voice is quiet and flat and it's my turn to frown at him.

"My parents, my whole family, got killed by a hate group, for being who they were. I have nightmares every night. Nothing makes them easier. I just don't scream anymore, because Magneto punished me if I woke him up. I even found out that Magneto had another kid, I had an older sister, but she got killed by a mutant hate group before I was born. They burned her up, just like they burned up Mama and Tata."

"I should have a calling, too. Hell, I even have powers, so what's my excuse? Why don't I want to go out and save people who don't give a shit about me? Or better yet, Magneto's cause... he wants to change the world and make it safe for mutants. I should want to help him. Making the world a better place for people who are different should help my nightmares, right? But yanno, even when I  _did_  help Magneto, I still smelled charred flesh every night."

"I don't get you, Dickie. I don't get any of you heroes. The X-Men, The Avengers, The Justice League... at least with the bad guys there are perks. You steal it, you keep it. You got no good reputation to uphold, you got no public eye to appeal to. Once you're written off as bad, no one cares about you or what you do."

"You're not written off, Tro, and plenty of people care about you."

"Name two." He grins, but it's cold.

I sigh. "Me, number one. And Wanda."

"Wanda doesn't give a shit. I told you--"

"Tro, she cannot hate you! You just need to talk!"

"She. Tried. To. Kill. Me!" Pietro shouts. "The first time she saw me after getting outta the nut house, she tried to bring the house down on my head. When I tried to talk to her, she threatened me. When I betrayed her..." He shakes his head. "The nut house twisted her. She's not Wanda anymore. She's the Scarlet Witch, and she will destroy anybody who gets in her way to Magneto. She will use anybody to lure Magneto to her. She's not my sister, DG. She's just not."

The last part is said in a whisper, and he bows his head.

And what do I say? I wasn't there; I haven't seen Wanda. He could be right. I don't want him to be, but I've seen the darker side of things. People really can change so much that you don't recognize them. They really do go so crazy that they'd kill their families and friends and just not care.

I mean, I know Two-Face and I knew Harvey Dent.

I breathe and just stare at Pietro. He puts his face on his knees and goes completely still. A still speedster, an oxymoron. Slowly, I get to my knees and move closer to him and slowly, I put my arms around him.

I got nothing to say, but as the old cliché goes,  _Actions speak louder than words_.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

I wake up with Pietro's arm across my face. I don't move; I lie flat on my back, staring at the shadow of what can only be my cousin's ulna over one eye, the bridge of my nose and my cheek.  I should have told Alfie not to bother with the sofa. I got into bed, and Tro climbed right in after me. After a 20 second stare down, he rolled onto one side and I rolled onto the other.  _Well_ , I had thought,  _it's a big bed. Plenty of room for five, so two should be okay_.

Wrong. I guess being in that little hospital bed back at Mount Justice restricted Tro's movements, but in a big bed... geez. The guy rolled all over the place. I'm surprised he didn't fall out of the bed. If it had been Jase, I'd have pushed him out, but I didn't have the heart to do that to Pietro. His life sucks, and the least I can do is let him have my bed. It doesn't make up for anything, doesn't make anything better, but it's a bit of kindness. And for someone who really hasn't gotten much of that, it's a lot.

I gently slide his skinny arm off my face and move it to his side. He's lying with his arms and legs spread-eagle, pillow over his head, blankets tangled at his knees. His chest rises and falls peacefully, and I'm quiet as I slip out of bed and tuck my half of the blanket around him. I turn off my bedside alarm before it goes off and shuffle to the closet where my starched school uniforms are.

Alfie had let me know he wasn't going to come in and lay out my clothes because I have a guest, and that's fine. I can get my own clothes out anyway, he just likes to. He's been doing it since I was eight, just like he makes the pancake faces. Old habits die hard, but, you know, some old habits don't have to die at all if they make other people feel better when they do them. I'm not a baby anymore, but I still like the attention. It's nice, and Alfie... still wants me to be that baby.

Hell, he still wants all of us to be the babies he first met, Bruce included. Alfie still packs our lunches, and makes favorite desserts, and he covets the little ticks that we brought with us into his care and incorporates them into his great book of daily procedures. He hates soda, but he always keeps a six pack of Mountain Dew in the pantry just for Jase who grew up on the stuff. He also keeps bakers' chocolate out for Bruce to nibble on (yuck), and he has a special jar of crunchy peanut butter just for me and Jase to put spoons in and eat right out of the container.

I don't know what he does for Tim yet. I haven't seen anything special... and maybe that should worry me, because maybe Tim doesn't have ticks. I get the impression that he grew up with a stick up his ass. We'll fix that, though.

I drag a uniform off its hanger and trudge to the bathroom to get dressed and brush my teeth. The hair I'll have to wet again, before I can do anything with it. Half of it is matted to my forehead, the other half is a wavy mess of cowlicks.

My reflection is pale with bags under the eyes, but I turn the corners of that mouth up and flash some pearls.  _Hello, Crest Kid. Man, do we got some work to do_.

Twenty minutes later, I'm fighting the hair and a cousin for privacy.

Pietro zips in, the shower's going and I swear he's in and out in a second. Then, he's beside me, bumping me over with his hip to make room for himself at the sink. Alfie put a toothbrush and supplies in here for him, and he makes short work of getting ready, only slowing down to let me see how easily he's getting his comb through his hair.

"Asshole." I fling some water off my comb at him and he grins.

I finally make the hair obey and get out some hair gel to stick it in place. "What are you doing up anyway?"

"Hungry." He's staring at himself in the mirror and playing with his devil horns, making them fall this way and that over his face. Seriously? He's one of  _those_  guys?

"Why'd you get all cleaned up? You can't go to school with me again. Does Bruce want to do something with you today?"

Pietro shrugs. "When I get up, I get ready. That's just how I do it. You never know if..."

...if you'll need to run soon. I know that's what he wants to say, but he doesn't say it. He, instead, plants his bum on the sink and swats my hands from my hair. "What the hell is this shit you're putting in your hair? It makes you look like a prep school kid."

"Um... I am a prep school kid." I raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, you don't have to look like one." Next thing I know my head's in the sink and I've got cold water running over my face. "You'll thank me."

"Dammit! That's cold! Gel's getting in my mouth!"

He ignores me and I feel his hands scrubbing my scalp. Then he fishes me out of the sink and the blow dryer's going. "No, that makes it--"

"Shaddap, I know what I'm doin'."

Minutes later, I'm rocking a One Direction do that I know Jason's gonna give me hell about. I scowl at Pietro who's looking at his own hair again. "What's the butler guy usually make for breakfast?"

"Pancakes for me, everyone else gets what he feels like cooking," I say. "And his name's Alfred, Tro. Better learn it."

"Yeah, yeah, Alfred," Pietro says; then looks away from his reflection and back at me. "Hurry up, DG. I told you I'm hungry." His stomach growls as he talks and he rubs it. "See?"

"Then go eat."

He frowns, and looks down through his lashes for a minute. I stare at him; then sigh. "Tro, my family won't bite you." Well, Tim and Alfred won't. Bruce and Jason are another story.

"I'll wait for you."

"Suit yourself." But being the marshmallow I am, I speed up the rest of my morning process, not missing Pietro's troubled look at my morning regiment of vitamins and prescription vomit pills.

We tromp down the stairs, Pietro holding my backpack, and into the dining hall where Alfie's set up breakfast. Smiley pancakes for me, eggs, bacon and toast for everyone else. I plop down in my usual seat across from Jason, and give him the finger when he smirks at my hair. Pietro sits next to me, adjacent from Tim. Bruce's spot is empty and there's no plate set.

"Where's Bruce?" I ask.

"Bat business," Jason says. He stuffs eggs in his mouth. "He's been gone since last night."

"Alfie tell you that?" I ask, pouring blueberry syrup on my happy pancakes.

"Yeah." Jason forks more eggs in his mouth and his eyes rove over to Pietro. "Where're you s'posta be goin'?"

"Nowhere." Pietro steals a banana slice off my pancake, then moves on to his own food. "Where are you supposed to be going?" He eyes Jason's sweatshirt and jeans.

"Poor kid school," Jason says, mouth full of bacon. "Academies don't take kids with records."

"Whatcha' got on your record?" Pietro asks, bacon, eggs and toast gone. He refills his plate, piling it high with eggs and toast, but skimps on the bacon.

"Shoplifting, fighting, you know how it is," Jason says, his eyes narrowing. "What's on yours?"

"Don't know yet." Pietro loads his toast with strawberry jam. "Hope it makes me sound dangerous."

Tim huffs, and blushes when we all look at him.

"There's a warrant out for you," Tim says quickly. "It went out the night Dick broke...uh..."

I roll my eyes. "Go ahead and say it, Timmy. I broke him out of military custody."

"Man, if I did that my ass would be grass," Jason grumbles.

"Language, Master Jason!" comes from the kitchen.

Jason scowls, and lowers his voice to a whisper. "You musta' pulled the 'kidney card' to get your ass outta..."

"Master Jason, I can still hear you quite well and I have a particularly flavorful bar of soap in the kitchen reserved for you."

Jason winces and guzzles down his orange juice as Tim and I snicker.

"He's kidding, right?" Pietro asks.

My brothers and I shake our heads. Alfie never kids, and the Dirty Mouth Soap makes liver and onions seem appetizing. I've only tasted that soap a few times, but Jason eats it at least once a day. You would think he likes it.

The rest of breakfast is pretty sedate, well except for the part where I tried to stab Jason with my fork because he made a crack about my boy band hair. Alfred comes out twice with more jam and toast for Pietro and more milk for Jason and Tim. He pats my head when he sees that my plate is almost empty.

It feels nice, all of us sitting around the table eating and just chatting about dumb stuff. Once we move away from criminal records, we start talking about video games and classes we hate. Tim's pretty quiet, but he smiles in the right places, meaning he's listening.

A clock in the hallway near the dining hall chimes, and I check my watch. It's almost 7:30. "Hey guys, we need to..."

The lights flicker, then go out.

"What the..." Jason cuts himself off.

"A fuse?" Tim asks.

A flashlight beam cuts through the dark, and Alfred enters the dining room. "I'm going to check the fuse box, young sirs. If you would please get your things together and go to the car, so we won't be too late."

"Yeah sure, Alfie." I take the extra flashlight he holds out to me and turn it on. "Come on, guys. Uh, Tro..."

Pietro shrugs. "I'll stay here."

I get up, and stop, tensing. Jason's gone rigid. I see his head whipping around and know he feels it, too. Someone's moving around in the house. Me, Tim, Alfred, Jason and Pietro are accounted for, and it can't be Bruce because he doesn't  _move_  like that.

I put a finger to my lips and shoot Jason the "bat signal" look that he shoots right back. Tim blinks between us, frowning and trying to read us, and I don't have time to give him direction. Jason and I swiftly and quietly rummage the drawers of the china cabinets and find the knives. I toss one to Tim, who catches it, wide-eyed, and nods. Armed, we circle the dining table, waiting. I position myself near Pietro, and Jason is near Alfie.

The lights flicker back on and Pietro yelps.

There's a girl, maybe sixteen, standing in the door frame, dressed in a tight, red jumpsuit and black boots with a heavy black overcoat. Her short black hair is dyed red under the bottom. She wears a sneer that puts all of Jason's to shame.

How the hell did she get in here?

"I told you I'd find you again, Pietro."

I keep my eyes on the girl, but, in the corner of my eye, see Pietro, fists clenched, standing off to my right.

"I told you I don't know where Father is and I mean it. Just leave me alone, Wanda!"

_That_ 's Wanda?

Her fingertips crackle with blue energy, and a dark smile curves her lips. "I was hoping you'd be difficult."

I try to move but can't, my body's frozen in place, paralyzed, surrounded by blue sparks. I look to see that everyone's surrounded by bolts of blue energy and standing as rigid as I am. Wanda walks forward, her gait slow and steady, and stops next to Pietro. She whispers something in his ear; then pulls a syringe from her pocket.

I barely get out a warning before she stabs it into his shoulder.


	14. Chapter 14

"Wanda, what the hell did you give him?" I yell at her and she turns to me with a glare.

"Don't act like you know me! And why the hell do you care? What's he even doing here, anyway? Who the fuck are you?" Her voice drips with venom and her blue eyes burn. Looking into her eyes, I see wild rage bordering on bat-shit crazy. Damn, Pietro really wasn't exaggerating... but I hope (hope, hope) there's something in there to reason with.

"You don't know me? You break into a house and don't bother to look up who lives in it?" I sound like an asshole, but if it makes her react...

She purses her red lips. "I don't care who lives here!"

The blue energy fizzles out around Pietro and he stumbles to one side, gripping a high-backed chair. He presses his hand to his head and his knees buckle.

Crap. What  _did_  she give him? I go through the list of common intravenous drug that disorient people. Maybe it's...

"Oh God, what did you do to me?" Pietro moans. He stands, tottering on his feet, looking around the room in horror. He takes a step toward Wanda and whimpers. "Oh, God. Oh, God! Fix it, Wanda! What if he comes!"

"That's my plan. Make it so you have to stay in one place so Daddy can come to you... and find me."

"You don't understand! He's not coming to  _rescue_  me! You're crazy!  I  _need_  my powers! Fix it!"

Blue energy strikes Pietro in the stomach and he goes flying into a back wall. Wanda glowers at him, her left fist crackling with power. "Don't you ever call me that."

I can't turn my neck enough to see if Pietro is okay. Damn, damn, this is not good. That drug took his speed. He can't protect himself from her or anyone else, and I can't move!

"Look, Goth Girl, if you got beef with the pale kid over there, take it outside! Our dad's gonna get back and kick our asses for this mess  _you_ 're making!" Jason yells.

Wanda sneers in Jason's direction. "I don't care about your rich daddy." She frowns and turns back to me. "Why did you ask if I know you? I don't know any rich kids."

"Do you know whose house this is?" I ask.

She puts a hand on her hip. "Bruce Wayne's house, and I know you're not Bruce Wayne. You one of those charity kids he adopted to make himself look good?"

I take a deep breath. Man-oh-man do I love taking chances lately. " _Do you remember the tire swing by the lake and getting stuck in that tree? You were six. Do you remember who got you down?_ "

Her eyes go wide as she stares at me, taking me all the way in. The anger and bitterness bleed out of her expression for a moment, and she's my cousin Wanda. The blue sparks vanish from her hands. "Richard?"

I nod.

" _What are you doing here? Aunt_  Mary  _and_   _Uncle_  John  _work for_  Bruce Wayne  _now_?" I blink at the hope I see growing in her eyes.

I shake my head. " _They're_   _dead. They got killed a year after Aunt_  Marya  _and Uncle_  Django."

" _What_?" There's a slight tremor in her voice and her face goes white. " _Killed... how_?"

I see the hope in her eyes die. What did she think before? Did she want to see my parents again? She used to love them.

" _Murder_ ," I say, blinking back images. Bruce says one day I'll be able to talk about it and not see it. I think he's full of shit.

Rage flares in her eyes again and her entire body crackles with power. "I can't have anything!" Dishes explode in the china cabinets behind her, pictures fall off the walls, the furniture starts sliding across the floor, and I can move. The crackling blue force field around my body is gone.

 Wanda roars and throws those weird bolts of hers at objects, breaking antiques. She seems to be totally lost in what she's doing. I take a step toward her and she whirls on me.

"Stay there, Dickie. I don't know if I can trust you. You're letting  _him_  stay here! When did  _he_  find you? Did you know Father put me in that...that place... and you didn't try to help me either?"

"Wanda, I didn't know where either of you were. I thought you were still in the Balkans somewhere."

"Bullshit! Why is he here then? Why does he know where you live? Why is he eating breakfast with you and your fuckin' new family? You replaced Aunt Mary and Uncle John. You replaced  _us_!" She aims her power at me again and I feel my muscles freezing up... I also see Jason, creeping behind her.

"That's not true!" I yell, focusing on Wanda.

"Then why..." She starts then gasps, eyes rolling back in her head as Jason's fingers jab a pressure point in her neck.

"And that's how you deal with girls who won't leave you alone after the first date," Jason says, letting Wanda fall to the floor with a dull thud.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

"Oh God, my head is blowing up. She put gunpowder in that needle or something." Pietro's sitting on the floor next to a dining chair with his head between his knees as I check his vitals. Everything's normal, which is wrong for him. His pulse is a regular 70 beats per minute, his body temperature is 96.5, and his reflexes are average. Whatever Wanda put in that needle really did inhibit Pietro's powers, but how long will it last?

I rub Pietro's back and move over to Alfred and Tim. Wanda had been manhandled into a dining chair by Jason and then tied up by Tim who can do some of the best knots I've ever seen. Alfred has a black box on the table, filled with emergency supplies and syringes full of chemicals Bruce hates using, but sometimes it's necessary. There are tranquilizers, neuro-inhibitors, and hypnotic agents among other things and only Alfie and Bruce are allowed to touch them.

Jason comes back into the dining room. "The perimeter outside looks clear and I got a message off to Bruce."

"Splendid, lad. Master Bruce shall be here soon, then." Alfred removes Wanda's overcoat and I have to turn my head.  _Gah!_  Wanda's jumpsuit is tight, and really low cut, and her arms are just out there!

Jason whistles and I sock him hard in the chest. "Stop looking at my cousin!"

"Dude!" Jason rubs his chest and glares at me. "She's hot!" He makes a fist and pulls back to hit me, too, and Alfred clears his throat.

"Boys," is all he has to say.

Alfie swabs Wanda's pale upper arm with alcohol and dips a syringe into a bottle of benzodiazepine, filling it with a few cc's. "This should relax the young lady and make her more open to answering our questions."

"How long does it take to work?" Jason asks, eyes going back to Wanda's chest. Friggin' A! I scoop Wanda's overcoat off the table and cover her with it, glaring at Jason as I do it.

Jason rolls his eyes.

Alfred gives us both the "Alfie" eye. "Two minutes, Master Jason." He glances at his watch and pulls smelling salts from the black box. He waits a few more beats before running them under Wanda's nose.

The reaction is immediate. She jerks her head back, and her eyes fly open, rolling around in their sockets before focusing. "Wh..." she croaks, then coughs. "Where... what..." she fully focuses on us, me in particular. "Richard."

"What did you give Pietro, Wanda?"

Her lips press together and she scowls. "It won't kill him."

"Nice to know," Pietro says from the floor.

"How long will it last?" I ask.

"Few hours," she mumbles. She blinks rapidly and moans. Her arms and legs twitch and she tries to shake her head. "What did you do to me... why do I feel like...like I can't move...?"

"It won't kill ya," Jason says with a smirk.

"How did you find Pietro?" I ask. I pull out another dining chair and drag in it front of her, so I can sit and be at eye level with her.

"Mutant... he can find anybody...but Magneto," Wanda murmurs, eyes rolling around in their sockets again.

"Easy. Don't fight it. It'll wear off in time."

"If I get Pietro... Magneto will come to me," Wanda says. "I could have had him two days ago."

"Magneto is not coming to save me!" Behind me, I hear Pietro getting to his feet.

"Hey, take it easy. You—you're gonna pass out!" A crash, and I spin around to see Pietro in a heap on the floor with Tim hovering over him.

"I've got Master Pietro, you continue with the young lady, Master Dick." Alfred steps away from Wanda and kneels beside Pietro.

"Master...Pietro..." Wanda snorts and gives a weak laugh. "What the...hell...kinda set up is this for you... Dickie... gypsy brat? You don't...belong here."

"Yeah, I used to think that, too," I say evenly. "Look, Magneto wants to hurt Pietro. He's not lying to you. I know you and you can tell when he's lying. You always could. You have to know he's not by now."

"I don't know anything about him anymore... Or didn't he tell you...what he did to me? The hospital... how he betrayed me. How he let his teammates get taken away by... mutant hunters? How he just left us... like garbage... like Magneto?" Her weak voice drips with hatred so black I have to steel myself to keep from shuddering.

"In the clan... he would have been banished... you don't do that... to family. To your own kind... He wouldn't... be able to walk the streets where there were other Rom... He'd... he'd be...unclean..."

My insides cringe. She's right. Rom don't betray family. That's one of the worst crimes you can commit.

"I'm sorry!" Pietro yells.

"Master Pietro, I do wish that you wouldn't..."

I see Pietro in my peripheral vision, crawling to my chair. He sits beside it, leaning his head against my knee as he breathes for a moment. His voice shakes. "I'm sorry. I... The hospital... I couldn't... do anything. He was stronger and I couldn't... And then you were gone for a long time and I was... I did what I had to. You were gone. When Magneto came back for me, he was the only family I had then. I did what he said... and..." His voice strengthens, and he shouts with anger I didn't know he had. "And I didn't betray anyone! I lied, yes, but I didn't betray the Brotherhood, or you! You can't betray who you were never with!"

"I was a plant! I always worked for Magneto! I never worked for Mystique. I was never a member of the Brotherhood! The only way I would have betrayed someone is if I turned against Magneto!  I gave my word to him that I would do my job first! You... you were never part of the plan. If you had been at the start, I wouldn't have agreed, I wouldn't have done it for him. But you weren't, and I signed up and... I don't go back on my word. Rom don't go back on words they speak to family. I pledged my allegiance to Magneto."

"Oh, and what allegiance that is. You abandoned him," Wanda snarls. "You're good at that."

"He's crazy! He wants me to kill people! I can't! And he wants to punish me for it. What, do you want me to stick around and let him torture me?"

"It would make me feel better about being in a straight jacket for six years!" Wanda screams, tears streaming down her face. "Karma needs to bite you in the ass!"

"It did!" Pietro screams back. He struggles to his knees.

"Tro, come on, you're really gonna pass out," I say. "And Wanda, please, just listen."

"I'm through listening!" Uh-oh. Her eyes roll around and I see the start of blue fire crackling around her body.

"The drug's wearing off!" I shout, going for Jason's knock out move. I'm to her neck when a bolt knocks me on the floor next to Pietro.

The ropes around her body snap, she stands up. She flings bolts at Jason who's at her back with a syringe.

"Stay away from me!" Wanda growls. She stretches her hand toward Pietro and his body drags across the floor to her. "We're all going to wait here for Magneto, and that's unfortunate for you and your fake family, Dickie, because my father doesn't like humans very much."

"What do you mean wait here...?"

"Daddy knows where Pietro is. I told his little Cajun lackey all about it. He should be here soon."

"Oh my God! No! No!" Pietro tries to thrash in the blue force field that surrounds him. I try to get off the floor and can't. Jason's lying in a heap under the dining table. Tim and Alfred are still.

"Let's see... Daddy's usually pretty prompt. He's planning a coming out party for himself, because everyone thinks he's dead. At least, that's what the Cajun said. Magneto needs a 'big bang' to kick off his celebration, and I don't know... a public demonstration in Gotham City, home of the Batman, a very famous and very  _human_  hero, sounds... heart-stopping."

 


	15. Chapter 15

Well, there's no reasoning with crazy people, but the sad part is Wanda's not crazy. I've looked into the eyes of plenty of nutcases to know Wanda's not like them. Under the bat-shit and the unholy anger inside of her, there's a lot of pain. She's just lashing out. Does that mean I'll keep trying to talk her down?

If I had more time, I would.

Wanda paces the room, heavy boots treading hard across the wooden floor. I see Alfie grimace at the scuff marks she leaves behind. None of us can move. Wanda's still got us pinned to the floor, but Jason... I don't know if she's holding him down. He's pretty still over there; I don't see any blood, but I think he might be unconscious. I don't dare say anything to him, or Wanda's attention will go to him. So far, he's been good at sneaking up behind her—well, aside from that last time.

The theme song from Harry Potter plays in Pietro's pocket. Wanda smirks and flips him over, snatching his cell phone from his back pocket. Leaving him face down, she answers. "Quicksilver's phone."  

Her expression hardens and her eyes practically glow. "Glad you made it through security. It's a little tough. Come on in, I'm just finishing breakfast." Her eyes rove over the dining table and she snatches a leftover piece of bacon from Tim's plate. She crunches on it while she talks, "Oh, and tell Father to take the helmet off. It's rude to wear hats indoors."

She drops Pietro's phone on the table and finishes the bacon, eyes on the door.

My eyes are on the door, too. Magneto's here? Damn, damn, damn.... Bruce better be on his way, hell, he better be on his way with Superman.

Like I heard Wanda's strange, heavy footsteps, I hear the feet of a group of people coming in our direction. The first to enter is Red Eyes, wearing that same trench coat, and then a young guy with huge muscles and a crew cut wearing a tank top and jeans. Okay, that's fine. If Wanda will let us off the floor, Tim and I can handle Red Eyes and Muscle Man... but then they part, making way for someone else.

A tall man with broad shoulders steps into the room in a red and purple get-up with a cape. His white hair is professionally cut and smoothed back from his forehead giving me a clean view of a face that might one day belong to Pietro... if he lives to be that old.

"Father." Wanda's voice is predatory, like a tigress about to eat someone.

"You will behave, Wanda," Magneto says, his voice... God, it's like Hitler's or something. You want to do what he says because he's so confident, so powerful. A shadow moves from behind Magneto, a stooped figure in a monk's robe. "This is Mastermind. He's here to ensure your manners are befitting of a young lady."

Wanda roars and launches herself at Magneto, blue lightening dancing around her fingertips, and then she stops. The lightening vanishes and she gasps, touching her hands to her temples. "Wh-what...?"

A cold smile graces Magneto's lips. Geez... this guy's made of ice; everything about him is subzero. His eyes are glacier pools. "Sit down, Wanda."

I stare as Wanda obeys with clenched teeth, pulling out a dining chair and having a seat.

I'm so stunned it takes a few seconds for me to realize I can move again. I keep still though. It's probably not a good idea for Magneto to notice me right now. I try to make eye contact with Tim and Alfred, and I gaze at Jason under the table again. He's not moving. Fear stirs inside me. What if Wanda really hurt him? I have to get to him.

"Pietro, how good it is to see you again," Magneto says, casually walking around the table, his boots clacking across the floor. He stands over Pietro. "Running away is not how we solve problems in this family. I've tried to teach you, to make you stronger, but you continue to disappoint me."

Pietro's head is bowed and I know he's shaking.

"S—s—sorry. I'm sorry."

"An apology is unacceptable at this time, Pietro. You know what must happen in order for you to learn," Magneto says. He gazes around the room, blue eyes resting on me. "I see you've located your last human relative." I don't like the way this man's looking at me. I feel Tim shifting closer and I shoot him a glare:  _Don't move!_

"He's not really a relative; you know that," Pietro says, the tremors in his voice giving way to hysteria. "He's just... someone I used to know."

Magneto grins and I want to barf. I force myself still as the man comes to stand over me, but when he reaches down to touch me, I kick upward. I hear a crack when my foot connects with his forearm and he hisses and cusses in German.

I gasp and feel myself rising, my feet aren't touching the floor, and then I'm eye-level with Magneto.

"No!" Tim's on his feet and before I can yell, "Tim, don't!" he's skidding across the floor toward Red Eyes and Muscle Man.

The invisible force holding me suspended ripples and I'm shaken like a rag doll until I meet Magneto's eyes again. "Stupid boy," Magneto says with a sneer. He turns to Pietro. "I never did tell you much about your mother, did I?"

Pietro shakes his head. He looks terrified.

"She was gypsy trash, just like you. She ran away from her clan to be with me and they disowned her."

I stare. Pietro stares. What's this psycho getting at?

"Whoever she left you two with she must have told to take you home, to her people. The human trash cans that ruined you when you were young children were your aunt and her husband. I doubt they were smart enough to know just who you two really were."

Tears spill over Pietro's cheeks. "Don't talk about them like that."

"Did you say something, son?" Magneto smirks.

"Don't talk about them like that!" Pietro shrieks. He's on his feet and wobbly, Wanda's drug must still be working. "They loved me! If they hadn't... if they didn't die, I would still be with them... and happy. I wouldn't know you."

Magneto rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Pietro, do you think I would leave my legacy with humans forever? That hate group did my job for me, sooner than I would have chosen, but alas, they spared me the trouble of trying to break your ties to humanity. All of that clan is supposed to be long dead... but it seems I overlooked someone."

Those eyes are on me again. "I'm here to punish you... by correcting my mistake and letting you watch."

"No! No! Please, please, I'll do whatever! I'll do whatever!" Pietro shouts, stumbling to Magneto and grabbing his cape.

Out of the corner of my eye, Alfred moves. He's going for the syringe Jason had before Wanda knocked him out. It's lying on the floor.

China cabinet drawers fly open, some breaking off their hinges and crashing to the floor, full of heavy, silver knives and forks and spoons. The silverware floats in the air and begins to twist and bend, breaking into pieces and forming small pellets, like silver bullets. Those bullets focus on me, aiming, ready to fire.

Oh shit.

I can move my arms and legs, yes, but with no traction I'm not going anywhere. I'm a hanging target! "You can't do this!" I yell at Magneto. "My dad..." I almost say Batman. Bruce, please hurry up!

"Your fake human father will be here to clean up your inferior blood." Magneto raises a hand and two things happen at once. The silver bullets whiz toward me and... so does Pietro. He throws himself in front of me, and the bullets stop inches from him.

His chest is heaving, his breaths are loud sobs. He swings his arms out and backs into me, trying to shield me completely. "I won't let you."

From over Pietro's head, I see Magneto blink, the look of pure astonishment on his face making him seem more human. "Pietro..." his voice is amazed... and then it's all gone, wiped away by that coldness again.

"I must admit I admire your courage. For the first time it appears you have a spine, if only you weren't soiling yourself while showing it." Magneto studies Pietro long and hard. "You shall still be punished..." The silver bullets shift, lowering until they are level with Pietro's legs. "You must be taught not to defy me. Move, if you do not wish for your precious cousin to be injured on your behalf."

"Tro, no..." I grab his arm but he shakes me off, giving me a pleading look, before he moves to the side of me. "Noo!"

The bullets hurtle forward, two rip through his left thigh, one tears through his right, several hit both knee caps and two drill through his shins. The impact makes my cousin's body rock backward and he falls to the floor with a loud thud and twitches, crying out over and over.

"You son of bitch!" I scream; I kick and punch, but I can't do anything. I can't! I can't ever do anything to save family. Why?

There's a howl of pain from behind Magneto, and I look to see the robed monk crumbling to the floor, Alfred standing behind him with the syringe in hand. Wanda shoves the chair she's sitting in back, and blue lightening blasts Magneto into a china cabinet. Glass and porcelain shower the table. Red Eyes whips a deck of... cards (WTF?)... from his jacket, and one by one, they glow red. He throws them in Wanda's direction and they explode like mini-bombs.

Muscle Man clenches his fists and silver metal covers his body, making him look like a badly dressed Terminator. I fall to the ground, looking from a bleeding Pietro to a completely still Jason. God...

"Master Richard, I've got Master Jason!"

I nod as Alfred reaches Jason under the table and I turn to Pietro. I rip my school blazer off and ball it up under his head and... God... my hands hover over his legs. Blood is everywhere. Magneto might have hit an artery... two arteries. Pietro's skin is gray and his eyes are glassy, he's not screaming anymore, but he's not breathing too good either. I whip my shirt off over my head, ignoring the buttons that pop off. I rip it into strips and shakily make tourniquets. I... I just have to stop the blood. Stop the blood...

Fighting erupts around us. Explosions and the sounds of furniture and glass and china breaking rock the room. Blue lightening traps Red Eyes and holds Magneto suspended. Muscle Man contends with Tim and... Jason. Jason's up. Jason shoves Tim behind him and takes on Muscle Man himself.

Alfred appears by my side, taking over my shoddy first aid attempts. "It's all right, Master Pietro. You'll be just fine. Please keep your eyes open. Talk to him, Master Dick."

"I don't...I don't know what to say. I'm sorry," I stutter. "I told you I'd protect you and I didn't. I should have just let you run. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have... you shouldn't have gotten in the way." I grip his hands. They're sticky with blood. He must have been touching his legs. I'm sticky with his blood, too. His fingers are slack in mine, but he tries to focus on me.

Where is Bruce? Where is Bruce? Where is Bruce?

There's a shout from Wanda and a strangled yell from Magneto. Looking up, I see a man in black and orange spandex with metal claws ripping at Terminator Muscle Man. Jason and Tim are on the floor, Jason looking woozy and clutching his right wrist and Tim with his hand on Jason's shoulder, staring straight ahead at... at Batman tying up Red Eyes.

Magneto and Wanda are on the floor in front of a bald man in a wheelchair. The fight ends in a matter of minutes with Red Eyes, Muscle Man (without his Terminator skin), Wanda, and Magneto, Master of Magnetism, hog-tied with the sound of approaching sirens as background music.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

The man in orange and black spandex, who Batman calls Wolverine, retracts his claws (I blink as the things slip under his skin), and helps Alfred and I move Pietro to the front parlor, so that the paramedics can get to him first. Jason and Tim follow us, Jason cradling his wrist and leaning on Timmy a bit. Professor Xavier, the bald man in the wheelchair that tamed Magneto and Wanda like circus lions with his mind, stays behind with Batman to watch over the hog-tied peanut gallery.

I flinch as I feel a foreign presence break through my thoughts.

[ _Dr. Henry McCoy will meet you at Gotham General. He's familiar with Pietro's anatomy and mutation.]_

The voice in my head sounds like the good professor, and from the disturbed looks on the faces of Alfie and my bros, they must have heard it, too. I have a hard time shaking off the weirdness. M'gann entering my head is one thing, but a bald dude I just met, gah!

Wolverine and Alfred lay Pietro on a rug in the front parlor and Alfred adjusts my blazer over his shoulders. "Master Pietro? Can you hear me?"

The sirens are getting louder and I hear tires crunching on the manor driveway. Flashing emergency lights are muted through the white wooden blinds Alfred hadn't opened that morning. I rush to the front door, throw it open, and wave at the two teams of paramedics that come running toward the door, police behind them.

The first team of responders go right to Pietro, like they smelled the blood and just knew: him first! I push another paramedic toward Jason, who's sitting in a chair Tim's pulled for him and looking put out by the attention.

" 'm fine!" Jason moans.

God, he's slurring. I go to Jason, standing behind his chair next to Tim, and watching the paramedic check his pupils.

"Timmy...?" I ask.

"Concussion," Tim says. "Fractured wrist. He'll be okay, though. I'll stay with him."

I stare at Tim. His short hair is spiked with sweat and his gold freckled blue eyes are dark with worry, but he's tough. He stands up straight, his face is set. He's got a job to do.

I hug Tim quick, because the voices of the paramedics tending Pietro are getting louder. They rush past with Pietro strapped to a gurney, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. I get a pang in my gut and I feel a pull... I... I...

"Go!" Tim pushes me.  _I got this_ , his eyes say.

Right. I run through the front door at the heels of Alfred and Wolverine. Wolverine gets in back with Pietro, and Alfred and I squeeze in front with the driver, ready for a long ride.

 


	16. Chapter 16

The two paramedics in back of the ambulance bark orders at each other while hooking Pietro up to different bags. An EKG beeps slowly, and seeming like it's getting slower and weaker by the second. Pietro's jeans are cut off under the belt line and his legs are bloody messes.

"What the hell did this? These aren't normal bullet wounds. This one almost looks like a... a fork tore through the tendon here..."

The EKG shrills an alarm. Beep.... beep....beep-beep-beep-beep-beepbeepbeepbeep...

"His heart's going crazy! Blood pressure's through the roof! Is he waking up? Get him under!"

My stomach leaps into my throat. Shit. Are his powers coming back—and going nuts? Alfred takes my hand and squeezes it.

"The kid's a mutant; power's super speed, like the Flash. His heart's fine," Wolverine grunts.

"Holy shit! Look at that! That fork wound is trying to close up!" one of the paramedics shouts.

"Clamp it open! There's still metal in that one! What do we do, Mister?"

"What you're doing, but faster!" Wolverine growls.

I stare through the back window, watching the paramedics scrambling to keep Pietro's wounds open and splinting broken bones before they try to snap back together.

The EKG stops beeping and I swear  _my_  heart stops. I press my face against the glass to see the EMT's still working on Pietro. Alfred's hand is on my back now, rubbing it in small circles. The face of the EKG is black, the power cut.

"He's okay," I whisper, glancing over at Alfie. "They just turned the machine off."

Alfred gives me a smile. His face has a few new lines in it today, but he's still the strong and steady Alfred I need. I squeeze his shoulder.

"Hospital's five minutes away," the driver says, eyes never leaving the road. "Sure hope that specialist guy is already there."

"Me, too," I say.

The rest of the ride is bumpy. The sirens scream and the driver blows the horn as the ambulance runs red lights and weaves through traffic. We fly into the parking lot of Gotham General, heading for the ER trauma entrance, and I see a group of people in green scrubs with a gurney and a crash cart. A very large man in a white coat stands with them...and I gawk.

The man's covered in blue fur, like a huge gorilla. His arms are long and his hands are as huge and clawed as his feet. I'm gonna take a lucky guess and say that's Dr. McCoy, and you know what else I guess?--he's a mutant. I even think I've seen him on TV before.

The ambulance parks and the back doors fly open. The paramedics work on getting Pietro out of their care and into the care of the doctors and nurses. Once my cousin's transferred from the ambulance gurney to the ER gurney, he and the doctors vanish through the trauma entrance.

I get out of the ambulance, my knees quaking as my feet hit the pavement, and feel Alfred get out behind me. His white shirt and hands are stained with Pietro's blood. I grip his elbow and the man hugs me to his chest. I don't care that crusty blood on his shirt is scratching my cheek, I need this damn hug.

Wolverine walks by us, straight into the ER, and I hope he's gonna answer questions about Pietro, because... I pull away from Alfred, but keep hold of his elbow. My tummy has been a good boy this morning, but now that the fight's over and Pietro's being operated on, "I'm gonna throw up."

You know when I said Alfred should be Batman? Well, he should be Superman, too, because I don't think Superman can carry a guy as fast as Alfred does to the nearest restroom.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

Alfie sits with me in the family waiting room outside of the OR. The hospital staff at Gotham General know me and Alfred on sight and just kinda went with the flow when it came to letting us into the OR waiting room. The only person on Pietro's emergency contact list is Eric Lehnsherr and he's just a little indisposed right now (may he rot). That guy, Wolverine, changed into a pair of Wranglers and a t-shirt, and sits across from us, thumbing through a  _Sports Illustrated_  and drinking black coffee.

It's only been about 30 minutes since we got here, but it feels like an eternity and no one's come out to say anything about how Pietro's doing. I'm tapping my feet while Alfred reads  _Life & Style_. There are games on my phone, but I can't concentrate on anything right now.

A text comes from Tim.

_Here w J & B. ER exam rm 4. Dr gonna admt J 4 overnite obs_

I frown and text:  _J ok?_

_Concussion. Wrist frac n 2 plcs_

I text:  _U kno_   _wht rm?_

_Peds 16_

Wolverine's glaring at my feet. I'm tapping out the "Pizzarriba!" song from  _Merrie Melodies._ Dude, I can't help it. I been in this chair for half an hour. I give ol' Wolvie a smile, and tap Alf's shoulder. "Alfred, Tim says Jason's being admitted for the night. Pediatric Room 16."

"Oh dear," Alfred says. "Observation for the concussion?"

I nod. "Fractured wrist, too."

Tim sends a new text.  _Howz P?_

_Still n surg_

I let out a shaky sigh and run my hand through my hair, then slouch further into the cushion of the chair. My feet stop tapping, and I resort to nail chewing. The flat screen television on the wall is on mute, which is great because it's on a channel showing nothing but the morning soaps. God, is it really only 9:30?

A news bulletin flashes across the screen, and images of  _The Young and the Restless_  fade into an aerial view of Wayne Manor from a news helicopter. Aw... damn. Subtitles scroll across the screen.

_Mutant attack on Bruce Wayne's manor. Mutant terrorist presumed dead found alive and captured. No deaths from the attack reported as of yet, but two ambulances have rushed from the scene. There's also no word yet on which members of the Wayne family have been injured._

I nudge Alfred with my elbow as shots of a docile Magneto being led out of the house are shown, along with shots of Wanda, Red-Eyes and Muscle man, all in cuffs. Professor Xavier is helped out of his wheelchair and into the front passenger seat of the police car Magneto and Wanda are placed inside.

_Professor Xavier of the Xavier Institute assists with the apprehension of Magneto, but declines to give a statement as to how he knew Magneto would be at Wayne Manor, and billionaire Bruce Wayne does not seem to be home to comment_.

Alfred tuts. "The gardener has been neglecting the azalea bushes."

Incredulity makes me laugh. Leave it to Alf to watch a news report like that and notice the flowers in the front yard. I lean my head on his shoulder. "You'll have to give him a stern talking to, Alfred. What will the neighbors think?"

The waiting room doors open and a doctor in green scrubs enters the room. "Family for Pietro Maximoff?"

I jump to my feet and practically run to the lady. She takes a small step back, eyes a bit wide behind her glasses. "Is he okay?" I demand, stopping short of grabbing her hands.

"Uh..." looking me up and down, she then looks behind me at the two men I hear approaching. I feel two hands touch my shoulders, Alfred, and I see Wolverine standing at my right with his arms folded over his chest.

"You gonna answer the kid?" Wolverine says in his rough drawl.

"He's uh..."

Oh for God's sake. "I'm fifteen not twelve! No one's gotta cover my ears! Is my cousin okay?"

Alfred squeezes my shoulders in warning, but Wolverine gives a little half-smirk. The doctor's hesitation makes me nervous. At first glance, people think I'm a lot younger than I am, and when doctors get nervous to talk around kids, it's never good.

"Mr. Maximoff lost a lot of blood, and we did have to give him a transfusion. Due to his unusual physiology, drugs were used to suppress his... abilities. His body was simply moving too quickly for our methods to be effective. We were able to remove all of the metal fragments from his legs and repair the arteries and tendons. The broken bones have been set and we were able to salvage both kneecaps. We did have to put in temporary plates that will have to be removed in the future. His ACL in both legs will also need additional operations.

It is too soon to tell if Mr. Maximoff will regain full range of motion in his legs, but he is young and strong, so it is entirely possible that he will, with a lot of rehabilitation. He is sleeping off the effects of the anesthetic in the recovery room, and we're going to keep him on suppressants for his mutant abilities for the next week or so. Side effects of the drugs are usually mild but he may experience some dizziness, double vision and nausea upon waking."

My heart beats fast. I breathe like a fat marathon runner. "Can we see him?"

"One at a time."

I do grab the doctor's hands then. "Lead the way!"

"Uh..." the doctor looks behind me at Alfred and then at Wolverine. I don't know what kind of look Alfie's giving the lady, but Wolvie's still wearing that little smirk.

"Certainly," the doctor says. "Follow me."

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

I hate pediatric units. Hanging out in a place full of sick kids really puts me in a  _great_  mood. The only thing worse than hanging out in Peds with sick kids is actually being a sick kid. I remember that all too well. The smell of Pine-O-Pine and lime gelatin is enough to make anyone barf. But, for friends and family, I put on my Crest smile and report in for the long haul. Need me to spend the night with you in the hospital? Sure thing. Want me to hang out here instead of busting bad guy ass? Just let me get my civvies back on. For two straight weeks, I've been a no limit Crest soldier on a mission to cheer my cousin up.

Jase was only here one night for observation and he upset the nurses so bad they practically clapped when Doc Leslie released him the next morning. I had been ready to spend that night with him, but Tim had beat me to the job, and surprisingly, Jase had just nodded and said, "Whatev, Troll-face." The smile  _that_  had gotten outta me had nothing to do with Crest. I did end up spending that night and four others with Tro, but after a week of me sleeping over and rushing out of here to go to school in the mornings, Tro kicked me out. After that, I started only visiting for a few hours each day.

I stroll down the hall to Pediatric Room 2. They keep Tro near the nursing station with an armed guard at the door. I hate guns in hospitals, I hate guns period, but I really hate them here. Just walking past the guard and seeing the gun in his belt makes me shudder. The officer leans on the counter of the nursing station, sipping coffee and chatting with the clerk. They both nod at me and smile.

The cop's familiar with me after seeing my face every day for two weeks, and I know the clerk from last year. Her name's Anna. She sent me a teddy bear with a card on my last day in Peds ICU. Sweet lady, but I wish she'd been as nosy as her friends; she might have learned from them that I wasn't twelve years old. I wave at Anna and the cop, and stop in front of Pietro's door, knocking first.

"Come in," Pietro calls.

I push the door open and raise a brow. Pietro's sitting with his legs straddled in front of him, staring intently at the small flat screen television on the wall. He gives me a half-hearted wave, eyes never leaving the TV. Geez... the drugs that keep his powers down are turning my cousin into a couch potato. It's almost impossible to get him to turn off the TV in the middle of a movie.

"Heya, DG. How was school? You act good and make A's?" His voice is distracted. I shake my head and sit in the armchair by his bed.

"How ya feelin'?" I ask, looking him over. He lives in sweatshirts and snap-on athletic pants now. The baggy sweatshirt hangs off his bony shoulders and swallows his torso, but the athletic pants fit a little tighter because they're buttoned over temporary casts and bulky bandages.

"Holy," he says, pulling his eyes away from the TV and turning to me. "I'm full of holes, and it kinda itches." He gives me a doped up grin, and I know he's pumped full of morphine. After almost two weeks, Pietro's still flying high on painkillers and antibiotics. "How are Jason and Timmy?" he asks.

"Getting along," I say. "I haven't had to break up a fight, since..." I shrug, since Wanda and Magneto's attack. "Bruce is ecstatic and Alfred whistles while he works. It's kinda like the Twilight Zone, but cool."

"And you, you're okay?" Tro's still wearing that dopey grin.

"Yeah, I'm good." And I'm not lying. "I haven't puked in a week." Jason and Tim getting along and Bruce and Jason on speaking terms again is better than any medicine Dr. Leslie can give me. 

"That's awesome sauce, Dickie! I'm glad for ya! I got great news, too. Oh...oh...hold on... hold on." His attention's back on the TV. I look at it, too.  _Game of Thrones_  is on. Wally dropped the first season off when he'd come to visit a few days ago. I grimace as a pale guy gets hot, molten gold poured over his head.

"Haha! That's what your ass gets! Whoo!" Pietro claps his hands, and I shake my head. After a second, the DVD pauses and Pietro's grinning at me again. "You know, I haven't watched a whole TV show since I was like 11. They're too slow, but now... dude! It's awesome sauce, too."

"That's your good news?" I ask, reaching out to flick his forehead.

"No, no!" He shifts on the bed. He uses both hands to carefully shift one of his legs over and he bites his lip, eyes crinkling a bit. I stand up, ready to help, but he waves me off. He doesn't really let anyone help him move his legs. "Ah..." He breathes, then runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to juvie!"

"Oh yeah?" A smile breaks out on my face as relief and happiness fill me. He's not going to jail. "That's good. That's great. The judge decided today?"

Pietro nods. "Yeah. Uncle Charles and Bruce have smokin' good lawyers. They talked down everything. I'm just getting probation until I'm 18. I'll kinda be on house arrest with one of those ankle thingies, but it's better than lock-up, huh?"

House arrest? "House arrest where?" I want to sit next to him on the bed, but I'm so afraid I'll hurt him on accident. I end up sitting on the arm of the chair to get myself closer to him.

"At Uncle Charles's school." Pietro shrugs. "He says... it'll be good there. I don't have to join his team or anything. I'll just live there and go back to good ol' Bayville High. So long as I keep my nose clean, it'll all be gravy."

"That's fantastic," I say, but Tro doesn't sound as happy about it as I do. I lean forward, worry making me antsy. "What's wrong?"

Pietro picks imaginary lint off his sweatshirt, and mumbles, "Uncle Charles sent Wanda away. He's got a friend, some doctor who's got a clinic in Scotland for mutants. He thinks she'll get better there."

Wanda's going to Scotland? "When?"

"Sent her yesterday," Pietro says. "She didn't even wanna come and say 'bye', or make sure Dad didn't hurt me too bad."

"But she asked about you?"

Pietro blinks at me, his bright blue eyes a little glazed. "Yeah, yeah she did. Uncle Charles said she was worried. She cares, I guess."

"Of course she cares," I say. I touch his arm and squeeze his elbow. "She's just... a little sick right now." And hopefully Professor Xavier knows what he's doing sending her away to another hospital. But the guy seems pretty trustworthy, and though Pietro never has kind words to say about Xavier's students, he likes Xavier. Turns out  _Uncle Charles_  used to be a good friend of Magneto's and he used to come around when Pietro and Wanda were little.

Pietro nods, bowing his head. "Dr. McCoy says they're gonna let me outta here in another week. I'm gonna go straight from here to the Institute."

I feel like I'm on a tightrope in roller skates. My stomach flutters. I'm gonna fall. "I thought..." I thought that he'd at least get to come to the manor for a few days before he goes.

"Uncle Charles says you can visit whenever you want. He likes you. I... Will you come and help me set up there? The X-kids don't like me much, and..."

He'll be alone. I fall off the tightrope, and feel a tumbling sensation in my middle. I grip the railing of his bed. "Yeah, yeah, I'll come." But I don't want you to leave.

He's quiet for a while, then says, "My dad's locked up in a special prison, in a cell made of plastic.  Uncle Charles won't say where. It's a big secret."

"Good. Hope he's in there forever," I say, but it's the wrong thing. Pietro buries his face in his hands. "Hey...what?" I ask.

"He says he forgives me," Pietro mutters.

"Who?"

"My dad. He told Uncle Charles that he forgives me," Pietro says. "Why would he say that instead of...oh, I don't know...I'm sorry for shooting you? Instead he says shit like, you're forgiven for failing me and if you wish to rejoin my fucked up team you are welcome."

"He's a sick bastard," I say, and... oh screw it. I climb onto the bed next to my cousin, careful not to touch his legs. "Forget about him. Who cares what he says?"

"I do," Pietro whispers. "I don't want to, but I do."

My chest feels tight. "So... you... would you go back to him, join his team and help him again?" I stare at him. Can he be so messed up inside by that guy that he'd go back to him?

Pietro pulls his hands from his face, and looks straight forward, before looking at me, his eyes clear. "No."

Haha! I laugh and ruffle his hair. I feel like I won something, a Nobel Peace Prize or a Pulitzer. Something big.

"I don't need him," Pietro says, giving me a smile. "He's not my only family anymore. I got other people to be loyal to, and you don't treat me like crap on your shoe."

I chuckle and drape an arm over his shoulders.

We watch the next episode of  _Game of Thrones_ , limiting our conversation to comments on the show for a while.

"DG?"

"Yeah, Tro?"

"You think Wally can hook me up with another face-shirt? I lost that other one, and I need one to wear to Nationals. Uncle Charles says I can go so long as one of his X-Geeks goes, too."

I growl as he laughs.

I hate speedsters.


	17. Chapter 17

"Nah, Troll-face! You go through there and we won't get the ultimate weapon! It'll disappear forever! Give—just give me that!"

"No! You told me I could play!"

I poke my head inside the den. Jason and Tim are on the couch wrestling for a video game controller with a bowl of spilled popcorn on the floor in front them. Should I jump in the fight—and if I do, who should I help?

Hmm... Jason grunts as Tim gets him in the eye with an elbow, and Tim yelps as Jason bends one of his fingers back. Aw heck, I owe Timmy one. I launch myself on top of them, and get Jase in a headlock.

"Yargh!" Jason yells, trying to flip me over as Tim pries the video game controller from his fingers.

"Hah!" Tim shouts, victorious. Jason wails and struggles in my hold and I tickle him under his arms before letting him go. I laugh as Jason grabs me, pinning me beneath him. I use my legs to kick him off, and we roll off the couch into the popcorn, crunching it into the carpet. (Alfie's gonna love that.)

Jason's rough fingers aren't good at tickling, but he tries anyway, and I laugh just because he is. He's back on top of our rumble, and he's flushed and grinning, eyes sparkling. I love that he's so happy. I haven't seen him like this in a long time. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let him win. I flip him again, but before I can pin him, he breaks my hold and flips me.

"Tim, gimme a hand!" he says, and little traitor Timmy appears, holding my arms, so Jason can sit on my knees.

"Dude, I just helped you!" I complain.

"I owe Jay," Tim says with a smirk and I give him a mock sneer, but inside I'm grinning. Tim's eyes are dancing. I don't think I've ever seen this kid having such a good time.

I feel Jason shifting around and glance at him to see what he's... "OH CRAP!"

Jason's socks are off, and he stretches his Monkey Paws toward my face. Those long toes are reaching for me, and I won't let it happen. "NOO!" I buck him off, but Tim's still got me. I kick my legs up and flip over Tim, bringing him down.

I'm free! I bounce back, dropping into a fighting stance as my little brothers circle me. Damn, they're thick as thieves. When did I become the one to gang up on? They rush me and we all fall on the ground again, tackling and tickling and laughing, popcorn a crispy blanket under us.

"Boys!"

We break apart, staring up at Bruce from the floor. I pick popcorn kernels out of my hair and try not to laugh at Bruce's WTF expression. His blue eyes go from me, to Tim, to Jason, before a tiny smile cracks his face.

"I think Alfred's going to have you all washing dishes this afternoon."

"Uh... I'm not gonna be here this afternoon, I'm going with you," Jason says, brushing popcorn off his collared shirt. I blink and do a double-take. A collared shirt... tucked into his jeans with a belt? What the...?

Bruce eyes Jason. "Not looking like that."

"Ah, come on. It'll just take me a sec to get this popcorn off...and to find my shoes. Dickhead, what'd you do with my shoes?" Jason's glaring at me and I stick my hands up.

"I didn't touch your nasty shoes," I say. Gross. "You shoulda kept them on insteada trying to put your monkey toes on my face!"

Jason scowls at me and stomps around the couch, probably looking for his shoes.

"You've got ten minutes, Jason," Bruce says, but I know he'll wait for however long it takes for Jason to be ready. Bruce's eyes have the same sparkle that Jason's and Tim's do.

Some people's families come together over Sunday dinners, and weddings, and Bar Mitzvahs. My family comes together over combat that ends with concussions and shot-out kneecaps. I don't think we'll ever win a medal for being an all-American apple pie family, but who wants that anyway? Boring.

"What are you and Jase gonna go do?" I ask, turning over the popcorn bowl and scooping some kernels back into it.

"We're going to Wayne Enterprises," Bruce says.

"Somebody's gotta learn the  _other_  family business," Jason's voice comes from behind the couch. His head pops up over the back of it, and he waves a shoe. "Got 'em!"

I grin at him. "You're gonna be a business man?"

"Well, you can't sit still long enough to go to meetings and make sure Wayne Enterprises doesn't burn down, and Tim's gonna have his Drake business to run when he gets bigger, so..." Jason shrugs, shooting a shy look at Bruce, and biting his bottom lip on a smile. "I get one biz, and you get the other, Dickie-bird."

I laugh. God, I feel good. "Really, Brucie? You're already talking about who you're gonna leave it all to? You're not that old!" I yelp as Bruce lunges forward and wrestles me to the ground.

"Pile up!" Jason shouts, and next thing I know I'm being attacked by Jason and Tim, too.

Once again, when did I become the one to gang up on? Bruce holds me down as Jason pulls the neck of my shirt out and Tim pours popcorn down my back.

"No fair!" I cry, laughing until tears run down my cheeks. Bruce turns on Jason, wrestling him now, and I look to Tim, who drops the bowl of popcorn and starts to bolt. I grab his leg and drag him to me. Revenge time!

"Boys!"

Bruce, Tim, Jason and I stop, looking up at Alfred from the floor. Alfred's hands are on his hips as he gives us all the "Alfie eye". "Master Bruce, you and Master Jason had best clean up if you're to be going anywhere. Master Tim, you have homework to complete. And Master Dick, Master Wallace is outside in that horrible car of his waiting for you."

"Yes, Alfred," we chime in unison. I get up, and pull Tim up with me. Jason and Bruce stand, brushing popcorn off each other. We line up, waiting for Alfie to pass judgment on us.

"Tomorrow evening you all will be washing dishes," Alfred says, then he winks and a small smile twitches under his moustache. "Now, off with you all. Children." He tuts, shaking his head and leaving the room.

Once Alfie is gone, I start laughing and Bruce ruffles my hair.

"How many times are you and Wally going to stop before you get to Bayville?" Bruce asks.

I pluck popcorn out of my shirt. "As many times as I have to pee, I promise, but it's only a two hour drive."

"You should wear a diaper," Jason snorts. "That'll fix your... ugh!" I smack him over the head and he punches me in the chest.

"You two drive safely," Bruce says. "And give Pietro this." He pulls his leather wallet out of his back pocket and fishes out a wad of bills, and I start in surprise.

"Bruce..." I say, but he shakes his head.

"It's so he can buy a Team Grayson Sweatshirt. I hear they're quite stylish," Bruce says with a smirk that turns into a laugh when I rush him. He traps me easy, pinning my back to his chest, and gives me a quick hug. "Ask Wally to save one for me, too. I'll need it to wear to Nationals."

I'm beaming so hard my face hurts. "You're comin'?"

"I don't see Wayne Enterprises or Batman having anything to do next month that will keep me from sitting in the stands. It's..." He looks off toward something beyond me as I step away from him and turn to face him. I follow his eyes; he's looking at the portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne on the far wall.

"It's time we started doing more things together as a family," Bruce says. "Something besides fighting."

"No more wrestling?" Jason asks, sounding put out.

Bruce chuckles. "Wrestling's okay."

From outside, a car horn honks.

"I guess I gotta go," I say, but I kinda don't want to leave. This scene with my brothers and Bruce is too awesome. It's like a great dream I don't want to wake up from because it might not be real.

Jason slaps me on the back, crunching some leftover popcorn in my shirt. "Tell the Black Hole, I said 'what's up.'"

"And tell him I said, 'hi', too," Tim says. He frowns, looking at the television screen and to the forgotten game controller lying under the coffee table. "Uh-oh, the game's not paused."

"What? Did we miss getting the ultimate weapon! Ah...!"

I leave the room on Jason's groan and Bruce's voice asking, "What are you two talking about?"

I pass Alfred in the hall; he's holding a blue tin.

"Have a good trip, Master Dick. Give Master Pietro my best, and these." Alfred hands me the tin and I give it a shake. Sounds like homemade toffee crunch cookies. I raise the tin to my nose and sniff. Smells like toffee crunch cookies, too.

"Thanks, Alfie! I'll make sure Pietro gets  _one_!" I jog away, laughing as Alfie tuts behind me. I go through the front door, and wave at Wally sitting in his red 2002 Honda on the driveway. He rolls down the driver's side window and sticks his head out.

"Took you long enough!" he shouts. "Dude, are those cookies?"

"Yup!" I slide into the passenger seat and buckle up before Wally backs down the driveway and through the open gate. "They're for Pietro... so we can't eat them all."

Wally grins. "Well, if we ditch the tin before we get to Bayville, he'll never even know he had anything." He turns up the radio.  _Glad You Came_  is playing, and I sing along as we hit the road.

* * *

 

(~*~)

 

The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters bustles with life. There are kids running around everywhere. They're playing touch football in the front yard, and there's shouting from the back.  A guy with flaming red hair and sunglasses with red lenses is washing a sports car in the driveway; there's a pop and a puff of smoke and a skinny blue guy in baggy shorts appears with a bucket of soapy water.

I feel like I'm in the circus again with all these different acts going on around me. Wally's tugging on my sleeve and pointing at a group of teenage girls sitting around a stone fountain giggling and pointing at us.

"Dude...the one in the middle is hot!" Wally hisses in my ear.

"Wonder if Artemis would agree," I say, cackling. I let Wally push me.

As we make our way to the front doors, the guy in the red sunglasses comes to meet us. "Hey," he says, sounding friendly enough, but there's some suspicion in his expression. "I'm Scott. You guys are...?"

"Richard, Pietro's cousin. Uh, this is my friend, Wally," I say. "Nice to meet ya. Can we just go on in? Pietro's expectin' us now." I texted Tro when we got to the iron gate sealing the driveway, and it opened.

"Oh yeah, sure!" The suspicion in Scott's face doesn't fully disappear, but he stays friendly enough. He walks us to the door and opens it to reveal a wide foyer that leads to a spiraling staircase. The sounds of crutches on tile make me look to the left where Pietro's slowly but surely making his way over to us.

He looks tired and his face is strained, but he shakes his head when Scott looks ready to go to him. "I'm fine, Summers. Hey DG! Hey Wally."

Pietro stops in front of us, balancing on his crutches. He's wearing a t-shirt that says "Sarcasm is the body's natural defense against stupid", and snap-on pants. I frown at the bruises on his pale arms, and he follows my look. "Physical therapy is rough, dude."

"Yeah?" I give him a gentle hug, not wanting to knock him over. He's a lot stronger than he was when he'd left Gotham General for this place a week ago, but he still looks fragile. "Got some presents for ya. Alf sent some cookies and Bruce sent a little something for ya, too."

I casually slide Bruce's cash into one of Tro's pockets and pat his shoulder when I'm done. Pietro looks troubled for a moment, then his face clears and he looks from me to Wally. "Where are the cookies?"

"Uh..." Wally scratches the back of his head. "Well, ya see, Dickie here pees a lot. So we had to stop so many times that it really slowed us down getting here, and I got hungry. I mean, you know how it is. I gotta eat, and those cookies... mmmm..."

"You ate my cookies, man?" Pietro shakes a crutch in Wally's direction. "Wait 'til I'm off these. I'm gonna kick your ass!"

Wally sticks out his tongue.

"Ahem." Scott clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Hey, I'm gonna leave you guys to it. Have fun."

We watch Scott leave, and I chuckle as Pietro rolls his eyes in the guy's direction. "You don't like him?" I ask.

"He's... gah..." Pietro shudders. "I mean... I guess he's okay, sometimes." He twists on his crutches and starts leading us down a hall to his room. The house isn't as big as Wayne manor but it's still impressive and we pass quite a few doors before we get to Pietro's.

"I get a room to myself, thank God," Pietro says as he opens the door. "But I think it's 'cause nobody wants to room with Magneto's kid." He sounds a little bitter, but he smiles at Wally and me all the same as he gestures around the decent-sized room.

There's a full-size bed and two large picture windows covered by red curtains. He's got two dressers, a full length mirror and a desk.

"I share a bathroom down the hall with two other guys. They're pretty clean, so it's okay," Pietro says offhandedly. He plops on his bed with a pained grunt and lies down, massaging his under arms. "So, what do you think I should do to this place? Uncle Charles says I can paint it if I want." 

I hum. The walls are white and blank; there are no personal effects in the room at all. Everything is standard issue. Bruce was right to give Pietro some cash. He's gonna need a lot of stuff to make this place home for him.

"Um... you don't have any stuff from that other place you lived in?" Wally asks.

"The Boarding House with the Brotherhood?" Pietro asks. "Nah, not really. Just a few things." He stares at the ceiling. "Lance brought my stuff by the other day. It all fits in one drawer."

"Lance?" Bowl Head had come by?

"Yeah, he heard what happened, you know, with," Pietro waves a hand at his legs, "and came to check on me. He's still pissed at me for what I did to him, but he's glad I'm gonna get better. Next time he comes around, he says he'll bring Todd and Fred."

Pietro's voice is light, almost wondrous, like he can't believe it.

"So, those guys are your friends after all?" Wally asks, not looking too happy.

Pietro smirks. "Yeah, I guess so, but I can't hang out with them too much. They're still connected to Mystique and Magneto. I wish they'd get out, too."

I flop down on his bed next to him. "Maybe they will. I'm glad you guys are cool again, though." I know it'd been hurting him.

"How are your legs, man?" Wally asks, pacing the room and opening drawers. "You know when you're gonna be up and runnin'?"

"I don't know. I been off the power suppressants for a few days, and I'm healing up fast. Might not need the crutches in a week, but it hurts like a bitch," Pietro says. "Dr. McCoy says it's normal."

"What about scarring?" I ask.

"I'll have a few permanent ones, won't be wearing shorts too often," Pietro says. "But that's okay. I never really wore shorts much anyway. I got pale, chicken legs to hide."

Wally laughs. "Dickie-bird never tries to hide his chicken legs."

"I don't have chicken legs!" I pick up one of Pietro's pillows and throw it at Wally. It catches him in the chest and he crows.

"Oh yeah you do! Glad you changed up your costume to include long pants!" Wally says. He plants himself on the bed, too. "So dudes... we going to store to buy stuff or we gonna chill for a bit?"

"We just got out of the car, Wall. Let's chill," I say, rolling onto my back. Tro's new bed is nice, but the comforter is thin and starchy like hospital bedding.

"All right, we chill... and talk chicks. Dude, there are some seriously hot chicks living in this place.  One of them was totally making eyes at me," Wally says.

"Don't you have a woman, man?" Pietro asks.

"I can still look!"

I snort and listen to Wally's rambles and Pietro's interjections as I study the white walls of the room. Maybe we can paint it blue or green, and we'll need to get some posters and put up some pictures. We  _so_  gotta take pictures. All families need to have plenty of those.

I turn my head, now studying the light smile on Pietro's lips as he listens to Wally. He's not beaming and sparkling like Tim, Jason and Bruce, but he's gonna be okay, too... and that thought puts another smile on my face that has nothing to do with Crest.

* * *

Epilogue

 

_I thought he'd forgotten about it. So much shit went on between when he said he'd help me and now, I wouldn't have blamed him if he did forget. But my bro ain't like that, so I really shouldna been surprised when he told me he found somethin'._

_I sit with him at his desktop, staring at three profiles. Three ladies, all alive, and out there... and any one of 'em could be my real mom._

_"So, what do you want to do?" Dickie-bird asks. "You wanna tell Bruce?"_

_I'm reading the computer files over his shoulder, but when he asks that I stop._

_"I wanna find her, Dickie. I gotta meet these ladies and find out which one gave me up and why," I say and he looks at me with those big blue saucers of his._

_"Then you gotta tell Bruce."_

_"Tell me what?"_

_Both me and Dickie freeze for a second, then I turn around and Dick spins in his computer chair, to see Bruce in the doorway wearing a tank top and work-out shorts, covered in sweat. "What's going on guys?"_

_Dick nudges me forward by kicking my leg and I stomp on his foot, before I go closer to Bruce. "I want to find my birth mother, Bruce, and I know where to look for her. Will you help me?"_

 

* * *

 

Next story in the  _Black and Red Universe_ :  _Black and Gold._ Thank you for reading _From Yesterday._

**Author's Note:**

> So... what'd ya think? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about it either way? Any way you liked, let me know! Please comment :D.


End file.
